


Hello Apocalypse, Goodbye 2019

by PlumPromises



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alluther isn't noticeable since it's pretty much not in either of their POVs but its still there, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, bi-sexual vanya, diego and vanya are also blink and miss it, fiveya is blink or you miss it, honestly this is more general than anything else but i thought i'd tag just to be careful, klaus and dave also happen of course but since neither are a pov it isn't really touched on, no beta we die like ben
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 68,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27976011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumPromises/pseuds/PlumPromises
Summary: Season 1 novelization (up to episode four) from the POV of Five and Vanya (for the most part).As stated in the tags, this will lean ever so slightly towards Five/Vanya and Deigo/Vanya, but since season one doesn't give them a lot of screen time together there isn't much of that at all, and what's there is more just a comment on past feelings rather than current/future ones. It's not the focus in this, but since it's touched on I figured tagging was safest for those who are squicked out by it.(sorry for the repost!)
Relationships: Dolores/Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Everyone, Vanya Hargreeves & Everyone, Vanya Hargreeves/Leonard Peabody
Kudos: 9





	1. Prologue - Zero to Four

**Author's Note:**

> My sincerest apologies if you caught this the first time I uploaded, but I didn't at all like the format and I decided that I just wanted to dump what I had up into one file anyway. That said, right now it's only complete up to episode four, and I don't plan to go further than that unless there's an actual want for it. I suspect there isn't a lot of demand for this though, but do please comment if you feel otherwise.

Reginald Hargreeves had known for countless years that the Earth would come to an end. There was of course, his personal familiarity into how planets could devolve into self-destructiveness without any outside interference to be had. His own – so far as he knew – had succumbed to one such method of extinction. And so, to assist his new accommodations in avoiding a similar fate, he planted himself in cabals of the highest order so that he might guide them in a better direction. This was, however, not his only insight into world ending affairs.

Reginald also had an acquaintance of particular rarity who had, on one highly besotted occasion, let slip a rather exact date, a date that compelled him to act accordingly given the acquaintance’s intimacy with time. He knew already that the Emanations would reach his current berth one day soon, and he intended to repurpose their use. Rather than power The Machine, they would circumvent the promise of impending disaster he had been made privy to. Despite being disinclined to histrionics, Reginald believed rather emphatically that an intelligent being should not have to suffer the loss of two home worlds in a single lifetime.

It was then, on October 2nd of 1989, that Reginald Hargreeves was given notice of the gift that had, at long last, been bestowed upon his new domicile less than twenty-four hours prior. The announcement arrived in the form of several news articles touting the most fantastical of tales: children born to women who had not been pregnant even an hour before the event. Reginald knew many would not believe these stories, would think them utter nonsense, an attempt to avoid disgrace, but _he_ knew better. He knew what this meant. He of course had been expecting this; had been waiting on it.

The closest was a mere two hour’s drive, and so taking that time he promptly appeared on the doorstep of a very confused, very new mother who was more than happy to give up the strange and unexpected delivery for a tidy sum and a contract to never disclose the agreement with another party.

As Reginald held one of the vessels in his lap and looked down at its pink face and plump cheeks, he knew that this was only the start of his collection efforts. There was only one Emanation present here. While there was no telling how many genitures there had been, he did know there was an upper limit. Emanations were fickle organisms, and it was as likely that each vessel had received only one, as five vessels might have received ten and so on. He would plan for the largest eventuality and arrange for the boarding of fifty. He would also, he noted with a sour expression as the vessel began to smell rather strongly, need to hire additional staff that could tend to the care of his acquisitions.

He had more important things to do with his time.

Seven vessels later, the trail for more had grown cold. While his search did continue, he opted to begin his study of the ones in custody. The natural evolution of Emanations had long been banned on his planet of origin, so their development would not only be a fascinating process to observe, but one of critical importance.

Time was, after all, of the essence.

They would be extraordinary specimens given their inoculation, but the unknown factor here was _how_ his extraordinary little collection would manifest over time. The mammalian element would produce unforeseen consequences that he would need to counter and endure. The monocle revealed much regarding the Emanation’s denouements; the rest would be revealed through vigorous testing and experimentation. And so, the studies began, years of his investment’s early uselessness creeping along as others cared for the creature’s base needs while he examined and analyzed them.

It must be said as well that Reginald Hargreeves was not incapable of experiencing love or providing affection. There was comfort to be found in the touch of another, and consolation knowing that they cared in return. Therefore, as a being capable of these emotional exercises, he practiced a strict separation in his mind when it came to the acquisitions. They were tools. Weapons. Items to be wielded. They had greater purpose, and any sentiments beyond the scientific and heroic would only diminish that charge. How could one, after all, send a cherished thing into harm’s way knowing that death might, and likely would be, an eventual result? This question, and its resultant answer, was what compelled Reginald to maintain a healthy emotional distance.

They were not his children, he affirmed early on, wards perhaps, samples in a great experiment more precisely, and so when it came time to title them for the caretakers ease of use, he simply numbered them by the order in which they’d been found initially, and then later, according to the level in which they exuded raw potential.

Reginald Hargreeves was not a stupid man though. The vessels looked like human children, and humanity as a whole was ill inclined to call their children tools or weapons. He knew that he would not get far in his endeavors if he revealed to anyone beyond his property that he was collecting these _children_ for use in larger schemes. He was a pragmatic man. He knew of the societal expectations here.

Purchasing a child was generally frowned upon, but a formal adoption less so, even for a single man of his apparent age. External appearances would need to be maintained for a little while, and so he allowed the children to title him _father,_ and he did not deign to correct them as they learned to call one another by _brother_ and _sister_ at the influence of their hired caretakers. Non-disclosure agreements would only go so far, and it would continue their ruse and was therefore an acceptable risk _._ They were meaningless terms relative to their relationships, but he hoped to reveal his weapons to the world one day whilst they were still young enough to be deemed legally _his,_ and he refused to humor any trivial scandals before that time. The world could not afford to have his efforts interrupted.

And so, they called one another brother and sister and father, but Reginald Hargreeves disallowed any notions of asinine affection or the familial comforts that might go along with such namesakes. They were a school for the exceptional. They would be a team first and foremost, for a team would require that tough decisions be allowed, decisions that may not otherwise occur between family members bound by constraints of love _._ Losing a teammate, he knew, both intellectually and emotionally, would not be nearly as burdensome as losing a member of one’s familial relations.

By the time the brood could walk and talk, Reginald had already discovered their specialties and had begun coaxing them to the surface, honing them into something that might be wielded for the greater good.

Number One was of course the most straightforward. Strength. Durability. Stamina. Those were abilities simple to identify, effortless to practice, and easy to master. Number One was not always the most intelligent of the flock but by no means witless, simply requiring repetition, concentration, and time, as most so often do. What he lacked in genius he made up for in an eagerness to please and a deep, defensive loyalty to both Reginald and his fellow teammates. These were qualities just as important as the preternatural, given what he had in store, and so he planned to someday encourage a leadership role for One, a happy coincidence that fit with his numeric order.

Number Two’s abilities were something Reginald began to call velocitel redirection; a manipulation of the trajectory of an object already in motion. It seemed to be a weak subset of telekinetic ability that could only be managed (thus far) once an object was already mobile, and only if said object was already moving away from Two. Not incredibly useful overall, but with projectiles it could at least find purpose. The larger issue with Number Two, however, was the boy’s attitude. Even at an early age, he was already proving to be a chore in terms of discipline. While the subject strove to outshine his preceding _brother_ , he also harbored a rebellious individuality that grated on the nerves. It would need to be broken out of him. Perhaps, Reginald jotted down in his notes, if the boy questioned his value and was kept engaged by this need to prove himself, he would be less prone to rebellion.

Number Three was an interesting specimen, and similarly simple to influence as the Numbers ahead of her. Her penchant for lies and exploitation were irksome, but her power of mental manipulation went unrivaled. With a mere whisper of certain words backed by clear intention, she could make even the strongest mind cower at her feet. Reginald’s distaste for the vessel – the child, as even he was in the habit of calling them now – sprung from her unquenchable desire for constant attention and praise, neither of which he was quick to provide, and certainly not at the whim of a mere adolescent. He would reward performance and performance alone, but if she proved capable and continued to impress, he would certainly provide some remuneration for her efforts. Perhaps the carrot, rather than the stick, with this one.

Number Four was an unfortunately sensitive boy whose talents Reginald could scarcely find a suitable use for, certainly not for one so frightened of even using the most basic facets of. Speaking with the deceased seemed a pointless endeavor save for perhaps the insight or intelligence they might provide in unique situations. This child would be of little use in an engagement aside from the general combat training he would receive, but with the proper guidance he might make an acceptable agent of espionage. It would be worth further experimentation, and should Four’s abilities evolve into something more, he might even be of greater value. More testing would be required.

Number Five was the brightest of the group by far. At nearly four years he already outpaced the others in reading, writing, and arithmetic. This, paired with his ability to teleport – and if through space, why not also through time, Reginald noted in his journal early on, as the two were, of course, inextricably linked – made him a fine specimen indeed, and an effective tool for many situations. Reginald had lofty ambitions for the boy that were spoiled only by the subject’s overpowering sense of individualism (worse even than Number Two’s) and his overinflated self-worth. Even at such a young age, he was well aware that he dwarfed the others in both intellect and ability, and such ego would be difficult to chisel away. He would endeavor to do so regardless. Pride, as they say, goeth before a fall.

Number Six should have been, by all accounts, among Reginald’s favorites. The boy was quiet, gullible, eager to please and easy to mold, all desirable traits that would work well in transforming him into a potent savior of the world. The issue, however, lay in the boy’s ability, namely the aptitude of summoning tentacled beasts from a netherspace in his bowels. The monsters he drew out were disgusting things that sickened even Reginald, who prized his tolerance for the intolerable, and while their utility could not be denied, he could find no pleasure in training this subject yet. The child’s empathy and gentle nature would be an additional burden to overcome.

Number Seven, of all the children he’d acquired, held the greatest capacity for power within her, a power far more dangerous than that of her teammates; far more destructive. They had yet to even scratch the surface, and Reginald was excited to discover her potential. To absorb and metamorphose resonances at the level she did was an impressive feat, but she harbored an unfortunate discontentment that Reginald could not seem to disrupt yet; a stubbornness that was quiet, yet firm, and unfortunately deadly to the hired help. It was a sort of unyielding willfulness that simply would not do.

On a normal morning just days beyond their collective fourth birthday, Reginald sat quiet in his security suite and monitored the children as they studied under the tutelage of a temporary teacher. He wanted to assess their actions in this environment under an eye that was not familiar to them. They were learning Greek this hour. The substitute lecturer stood at the front of the class and pointed out images that she had drawn on the chalkboard. She recited the corresponding word, which they were to then find on their worksheets.

The classroom itself had been optimized several months prior. The desks were positioned in the shape of an octagon with Number Four settled in the middle, Number One seated at the front and Number Seven at the back. After trying numerous arrangements, this seemed the most suitable. There were none in the group who disliked Four, and so he made a good tactical buffer, and it also eliminated easy eye contact between certain subjects, namely One and Two, and One and Three.

One and Two did not get along well, but this was only due to their shared desire to be best in his eyes. This was a desire worth encouraging. For now. They would each need to be their best if they were to save the world one day. Wearing a thoughtful frown as he was prone to do, Reginald watched and took notes, glancing every so often at the readouts he received from the electrodes he had stuck to each of the subject’s temples.

Number One took advantage of their guest teacher by continuously glancing over his right shoulder at Number Three, barely managing to maintain attention where it ought to have been. It was displeasing. They were still quite young, but Reginald knew he would need to watch this development closely. Loyalty was desired, but affection or fondness of a certain sort would breed nothing but distraction. Distraction was unacceptable. It was dangerous and wasteful.

Two glowered at One’s back, stretching his neck every now and then to see how far along the other boy was in their assignment. The competitive nature _could_ be destructive one day if allowed to blossom too far, so Reginald knew that he would need to sit Number One down in the near future and inspire him to live up to his number, lest he lose it. The boy would need to embrace leadership, and Number Two would need to accept a secondary role. That day was not today, however. Perhaps in another year or two, he jotted down.

Three doodled on her paperwork. When asked to stop by the lecturer and pay attention, the child _rumored_ her way out of trouble and into getting praise for a job well done.

“Such a talented little girl.” The teacher cooed with a new smile.

“Not fair!” Number Two whined.

“No talking unless it is to answer this question or ask another.” Their teacher warned, wagging her finger at him.

Reginald hummed in thought and began to scribble notes. This trigger phrase seemed to be working well for Number Three, far better at least than the previous phrases, and far less prone to accidental mishaps. They had finally, perhaps, found the prompt that they would keep. That was good. The girl was eager to wield it, and though he could not abide her attempts at manipulation against his own person – for maintaining control of any experiment was critical – he encouraged the conduct elsewhere. Muscles needed to be exercised frequently lest they shrivel from disuse.

Number Four was daydreaming. Unacceptable. Reginald noted that he would give the boy an extra three hours in the mausoleum during their next training session. If the child could not be compelled to pay attention to Greek, then perhaps a stronger focus on mastering his abilities would be in order. Number Four loathed the mausoleum, but facing one’s fears was the only way to overcome them. Face them he shall, Reginald decided, amending the boy’s next training allotment.

Number Five paid strict attention and took notes well beyond what his classmates seemed capable of. Though, Reginald squinted at the monitor, they seemed less related to the languages and more related to mathematics. This was a somewhat acceptable deviation. The more Five understood advanced physics and mathematics – he wasn’t there yet of course, but he showed initiative to move swiftly in that direction – the more he would come to understand his abilities and how best to use them. Reginald _would_ need to make it perfectly clear that extracurricular mathematics were to be done on Five’s personal time, and not on the Academy’s. He had no use for tools with only _one_ competency.

He would, however, begin to separate the subjects and allow them to better specialize in their strengths. Three had no need to understand higher maths, whereas Five would need far fewer languages. Reginald jotted in the margin to begin work on their new education structure.

Six was reading over his answers, nervously looking around every now and then to see what his classmates were doing. While his lack of confidence was lamentable, it was ultimately useful at this juncture. There was always little resistance in bending this subject to his will. Reginald continued to genuinely dislike working with the boy though. The creatures he conjured were deeply nauseating. He would need to overcome this, however, if he wanted to bring out the Emanation’s full potential. Perhaps they would need to begin exposure therapy, the creatures for Reginald, and an intimacy with gore and violence for the subject. His would not be a sterile ability, and they would both need to overcome any reservations towards its use.

He made a sidenote to call the prison and request any undesirables that would not be missed. The others could do with live practice as well, now that he considered the benefits.

Lastly in the back, Number Seven bounced between thoughtfully answering the questions on her paper and tapping her pencil in a steady beat, listening closely to the sound it made against the desk and causing the windows to rattle every so often. Despite the damage and disruption her ability caused, Reginald encouraged this behavior for the time being. Her skill level was not yet adequate or tuned finely enough. Her abilities continued to have a vastness to them that he couldn’t quantify, and with their strength it worried him that she showed less enthusiasm to master them than her teammates. Her stubbornness was trying. _More training_ , he wrote, deciding to fit in an extra session with her each day.

At the very least, he was pleased that he’d resolved the issue of Number Seven’s early morning manslaughters, and though he would never admit it aloud, it was nice to see Grace’s face once more. When his trial with outside teachers came to an end, he could program her to teach them every subject that Pogo could not, and then he himself could dedicate more of his time to data collection and analysis, and to the subject’s personalized training regimes.

Yes, Reginald thought, things were moving along nicely, but he would push the vessels harder still. He did not know _how_ the world would end, but he knew the date of it, and so he was determined to mold these creatures as best he could to prevent the forewarned cataclysm.


	2. Episode 1 - Reginald’s Death

#### March 21st, 2019

As Number One, Luther for some time, stood staring at the dark and distant horizon, he could feel the depression that was chewing at his soul ebb, if only a little. The vast blackness was shifting into shades of gray, and a second later his breath caught as light flooded over him from around the beautiful, but painfully distant Earth. The steel glint of moonrocks shimmered in the sunlight, a momentary field of glittering glass shards rather than the desolate prison he began to consider this place.

His first year at the research facility had been hard.

The second year harder.

The third year harder still.

Now, wading through the final stretch of a fourth year in isolation, Luther was choking on his desperation to leave at times. This was his only happy minute of every day, all the others filled with a constant need for assurances that he was here for a reason, that this was important work, that Dad needed him here. But when those recitations failed him, when the loneliness tore at him from the inside out, going home was all he could think about. A smile from Mom, a hello from Pogo; even an impossible mission from Dad would be better than another suffocating year of silent, solitary research.

Tumbling these thoughts and desires around in his head, it was then that he heard the notification for an incoming transmission. There was a swell of momentary excitement, but the second he read the words his heart dropped. It was impossible.

The cold of space leeched through his gear, freezing his skin and chilling his blood. It crushed him with an icy grip. The spacesuit was somehow tighter. Confining.

This couldn’t be true. It had to be a mistake. Somebody had to be wrong. He couldn’t have… He hadn’t…

But no, the message was clear, and the weight of it was colder than space and heavier than any responsibility he’d had to shoulder before. Luther had failed. He had failed without even knowing how, or why, or when.

Without even…

Because he hadn’t been there for his father and now…

He couldn’t finish the thought. Instead, he looked back up to the sunrise and let grief wash over him, let it burn in deep with the encroaching daylight.

He was going home.

When Number Two, Diego, heard the news of Reginald Hargreeves death, he was still thrumming from the adrenaline of saving a family from home intruders. The announcement didn’t pain him, not in the way it had his brother. Instead he felt a distinct sense of disappointment tear into his gut. It was as unforgiving and hard as the steel of his blades, and just as sharp. That was it then. Even though the thought was fleeting, he recognized the lost opportunity to ever excel beyond Number One in their father’s eyes. The knowledge angered him. Not only because he didn’t want to feel that heinous need to prove himself better than Luther, but because he knew it was a competition inspired by their bastard of a father for no other reason than to torture them more than he already had.

He hated that the feeling festered in him. But he couldn’t stop it.

It made him hate his father all the more.

_Good riddance._

Number Three, more famously known as Allison these days, was annoyed when she heard the news from press that was meant to ask questions about _her_. Annoyed that once again she was playing second fiddle to her family surname; annoyed that she hadn’t known before the public had; annoyed that this news had the audacity to catch her off guard and interrupt a night that was meant to be all about _her_ and not about _them_. She’d long ago written her father and his inability to love her off, but of course he still found a way to intrude into her life from beyond even the grave. She marched away from the cameras with a tight smile, wondering if she should even bother going to whatever trivial services there would be. She didn’t owe that man anything, however, she couldn’t help but consider the optics of _not_ returning home to show her…

Her what? Support? Sadness?

She’d figure out an emotion to project to the cameras later. As she walked back to her limo though, she thought of Luther and her resolve softened. She didn’t owe _Dad_ anything, but she knew the others might need her support. She would go.

For them. For Luther.

Number Four heard the news of his father’s death after narrowly avoiding an impromptu reunion with the old asshole. Better known as Klaus during his AA and NA meetings, he sat across from Jared, his favorite EMT, and listened to the news with hazy interest as the stinging touch of the defibrillator’s kiss wore off. A reporter was mentioning the untimely and unexpected demise of the world’s most eccentric and reclusive billionaire.

Huh. Couldn’t be Dad. That bastard would live forever, fueled by spite and the most ridiculously expensive top shelf preservatives alone. Must be some other eccentric and reclusive billionaire. Maybe somebody Dad _knew_. _Who cares?_ Drugs still frolicking through his system though, Klaus almost didn’t catch the name of said eccentric and reclusive billionaire when it was announced. Almost. Despite being high, his ears worked fantastically. _Well fuck me sideways and call me Mary._ _Wow!_ The old man really _was_ dead! Imagine that.

Klaus wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, jump for joy or curl into a small ball and be emotionally vulnerable for a few hours. Instead of deciding right then, he looked at the EMT and grinned, wiping away an unexpected tear that might have been happiness or the unintended consequence of being shocked back to life.

“Ding, dong, the witch is dead, mi amigo.” He declared with a burst of laughter. “This calls for a party.”

Number Six, only known as Ben to the handful of people who’d known him in life, found out about his father’s death from the sidelines. As usual. That’s where he existed, whether he liked it or not. His world was gray and muffled as he stood at Klaus’ feet in the ambulance, his arms crossed and hood up, unseen and unappreciated, staring at the screen in an astonishment that nobody could see or comfort him through.

“I can’t believe it.” He said to the zero people listening.

There was a pain in his chest where his heart should have been.

On the rare occasions when Klaus was clean enough to see him, they’d talked about the curiosity of that. Heartache without a heart. A _true_ phantom pain. It was funny in a life-is-strange sort of way; or maybe death-is-strange, rather. He wished he could talk to his brother about it, but Klaus was already patting at his pockets to see if he still had narcotics on him. Ben sighed and turned back to the television. At least he knew his brother wouldn’t be dying tonight too. That was a small comfort.

Number Seven saw the news on her way home from rehearsal, having stayed late to take advantage of the Theatre’s acoustics while she practiced alone. Known as Vanya, she paused on the rainy street in front of an electronics store, startled at the announcement, but not quite in the way most children would be about their parent’s death. It was more out of wonder that such a thing was even possible. Reginald Hargreeves had carried a timelessness about him, and she’d been certain all her life that he would outlast them all. She felt a vague semblance of grief, not because she loved the man, but because she mourned for the life he hadn’t provided, and now never could. It was unfortunate. The litany of never-weres and could-have-beens hung from her soul, slowly freezing with the rain as they transformed into the cold acceptance of never-will-be.

“Dad.” She said the word without quite meaning too, pondering her lack of sadness, and feeling the barest breeze of guilt over it.

He _was_ her father after all. As much as he could be called one, at least. In a normal world she should have – _would have_ – felt more. But she didn’t. This wasn’t that world. And then the station displayed an old photo to further remind her of that. _Them_.

The Umbrella Academy.

Her father and six children, six extraordinary people who were meant to save the world from some looming, nebulous threat. They were supposed to be her family, but she wasn’t among those in the picture. She never had been. She never would be. The knowledge dredged up a long-buried seed that was blackened and bitter, the roots sprawling but shriveled, a seed she had buried five years ago and hadn’t expected to see again so soon.

But then her father had to go and die, uprooting it in a final insult to her progress and existence. The seed pulsed, straining to bloom, so she reached into her pocket and tried to bury it with a trusted friend, a friend she hadn’t invited out, unscheduled, for some time. After staring at the television for a little while longer, she continued to her apartment with her hands buried in her pockets, head hung low, no regard for the rain soaking into her clothes.

She would decide in the morning whether she should bother returning home.

She wouldn’t be welcome, and she wasn’t sure if it would be worth the potential backslide. Either way, that was a problem for the morning.


	3. Episode 1 - Coming Home (POV Vanya)

#### March 24th, 2019

She did go.

Pogo had left her a message regarding Reginald’s cremation and the private memorial service that Luther wanted to hold for the departed scientist. All of the siblings were invited, the message said, and Pogo made sure to express how nice it would be to see them all together again. Her included.

It was funny he should say that, she mused, deleting the message. They had never actually been _all together_ in the first place. It had always been _them._ And _her_.

A few days later, as she sat in the taxi on her way there, Vanya was already debating additional medication, her morning dose far too many hours ago to smother the rising unease growing inside her. With every passing mile, cloying memories surfaced, unbidden, threatening to suffocate her a little more with each one. Only a few shining moments of happiness reached through the misery of her childhood, everything else tainted with muted sorrow, subdued envy, dulled resentment, and stifled rage. Staring out the window, she knew what would be waiting for her and she dreaded it, dreaded the lonely and claustrophobic memories that her looming childhood home would force her to regard.

Still, when the taxi pulled up to the curb she got out.

She’d made it this far. Might as well step inside.

Walking through the front doors left her feeling smaller than she had an hour earlier. Thinner. Lighter. She was transparent here in almost every sense but one. She felt like a ghost as she stepped into the grand foyer, an uninvited thing come to haunt halls that didn’t want her there. The dark chandelier hung overhead just as she remembered, gothic and impressive; too heavy and macabre to be inviting amidst the rich woods and somber decor. _Oppressive_ was the best word to describe the effect. A wide staircase straight ahead preceded a mezzanine that wrapped around the foyer and led to numerous passages that spread out to either side in a sprawling network. It was difficult to tell from the outside, but the entire block was interconnected in a maze of varying styles sewn together haphazardly for reasons only the dead now knew.

Vanya couldn’t help but sweep her gaze across the entryway, its gravity dwarfing her in ways she hadn’t felt for many, many years. She turned right and spotted a familiar blonde figure sitting alone by the fireplace in Dad’s parlor.

“Hey Mom.” She called out, drawing closer, but there was no response.

That was… strange. Their mother was mechanical; not prone to mishearing and never one to ignore even the black sheep of their household. Maybe she hadn’t been loud enough.

“Mom?”

Still nothing.

“Vanya?”

She turned to find her sister coming down the stairs, looking as beautiful and severe as she did on television. Her posture was perfect, same as her face, her hair, her clothes, and her shoes. Nothing seemed to bother Allison, at least not in any way that could diminish her presence. She was graceful and regal; perfect as ever. Vanya was sure she must have looked like an absolute mess in comparison. She couldn’t even remember picking her clothes out this morning, and what little makeup she _did_ own was collecting dust in the bathroom. She was used to being frumpy beside her sister though. Making an effort had never seemed to have much point. That was nothing new.

“You’re actually here.” She said, and Vanya wasn’t sure if it was stated in surprise, pleasure, or disappointment.

“Hey Allison.”

“Hey sis.”

They stared at one another for a moment, and Vanya waited for it to come. Waited for Allison to tell her to leave, to tell her she wasn’t welcome, to tell her she didn’t belong. She’d read the tabloid article after all, the one wherein her sister had disavowed the truth and claimed little association with her. Instead, Allison gave a stilted chuckle, then closed the distance between them and hugged her. It wasn’t what Vanya had been expecting, so she gave her sister a tentative hug in return, not quite sure what else to do when she’d been waiting for something so much worse.

The worse followed a second later, before the hug was even finished.

“What is _she_ doing here?” Diego asked, striding out of the parlor and towards the stairs. “You don’t belong here.” He aimed at her directly, eyes boring into hers. “Not after what you did.”

Vanya lowered her gaze, the truth of his accusation cutting at her with a dull edge. He wasn’t wrong. Guilt, shame, and a familiar anger burned warm in her stomach, waking up a craving for the extra dose waiting in her pocket to douse it.

“You’re seriously gonna do this today?” Allison looked over her shoulder at their brother, and when he didn’t answer, didn’t slow, she added, “way to dress for the occasion, by the way.”

“At least I’m wearing black.” He retorted before disappearing onto the second floor.

“You know what?” The burn throbbed in Vanya’s stomach. “I – Maybe he’s right, and I shouldn’t—”

“Forget about him.” Her sister interrupted. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Vanya couldn’t decipher Allison’s expression and couldn’t be sure of the sincerity, but her mouth twitched with a half-smile that she could barely remember how to use as she tried to show her appreciation. Sincere or not, it was nice to hear the words, but once it was said, neither woman seemed certain on how to continue with a conversation. It had been years since they’d last spoken, and there was both too much to say and not enough. They stared at one another, the unsaid ocean between them vast and impossible to wade. They were all but strangers.

“I’m just going to…” Vanya motioned to the parlor, wanting to properly say hi to their mother again, but when she looked, the artificial woman was gone.

“Oh. Sure.” Allison said, seizing the opportunity to end their awkward silence, completely unaware that what Vanya wanted to go in there for was no longer present. “I’ll see you later.”

And before Vanya could even say otherwise, her sister was already fleeing back up the stairs.

She sighed, then went into the parlor anyway.

The room had once been a small exhibit for guests being entertained, and Vanya felt like one of them. Framed photos of the Umbrella Academy’s fame littered the walls, and she looked at them in turn as she walked deeper into the room. That’s when she spotted _it_ on one of the bookshelves, slotted between two other non-fiction books and hidden among many more. It didn’t stand out, not liked the framed monuments to her sibling’s successes, and it was the greatest irony of her life. The only risk she’d ever taken, the only solo achievement she’d ever tried to etch out for herself, and it had only made her that much more alienated from the people she wanted to love her most.

It had started as a cathartic exercise at her therapist’s prompt to ‘get it all out.’ She wasn’t even sure why she had, at the time, thought publishing it might have helped them to finally _see_ her, to acknowledge that she shared the same pain that they did. She’d certainly stepped out from the shadows with it, but it wasn’t to their empathy, acceptance and understanding, but rather their bitterness and distaste for the candor she’d shared with the world. She plucked the offensive book from the shelf and looked at the inside cover to the note she’d left for her father.

-Dad,

I figured, why not?

V.

She stared at the note, at the abbreviation she’d used, and a soft voice she could barely recognize whispered conspiringly from a distant past. _We’re the only ones with a V in our name._

Some small part of her had hoped, upon sending it, that Dad would call her in a fury. That he would finally acknowledge her presence as more than just a shadow hovering in the peripheral of his golden geese. He’d never so much as called or commented though. She’d received nothing from him at all, no praise, no disdain, nothing… That was the only reaction that could have been worse than anger, and she’d gotten it from them all. Cold, resounding silence. She closed the book, ready to put it back on the shelf, when a voice from behind startled her.

“Welcome home, Miss Vanya.”

She turned to find Pogo. He was among her father’s first _possessions_ , an intelligent simian he had somehow created years before he’d acquired any of his children. Even after reading some of her father’s publications at the library, she didn’t understand how the man had managed the scientific feat, but she was grateful for it all the same. Pogo had been one of the few sources of genuine love and support she’d felt growing up, and she was sure that without it, she would have turned out to be even more of a shell than she already was.

“Pogo.” She greeted before walking over to give him a hug.

He patted her on the back with a large, warm hand, and hugged her in return.

“So good to see you.” He said, his voice kind and comfortable. “Ah yes, your autobiography.” He noted a second later, eyes dropping to the book in her hand.

Autobiog—? _Oh_. The weight in her hands grew. She felt embarrassed for having been caught with it, but she couldn’t help the question as it tumbled from her lips. Even all these years later she sought some form of validation.

“Do you know, um…” She almost stopped, not quite sure if she wanted to know the answer, though she was certain she already did. Maybe hearing it out loud would kill her longing for the unattainable, and so she pressed on. “Did he ever read it?”

“Hmm.” Pogo hummed thoughtfully before shaking his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

It didn’t quench the longing, and she wasn’t surprised by the information. Why did she torment herself? Maybe pain was the only emotion she _could_ feel any more, she considered, wondering when the last time she’d even felt happy was. Maybe that was why she’d come back here in the first place. To feel something; _anything_. Even everyone hating her was better than being invisible to them. Wasn’t it? Better than feeling nothing; _being_ nothing?

She didn’t have an answer.

Not wanting to see if there was any pity in Pogo’s eyes, Vanya looked away towards the fireplace, and ultimately to the large portrait that hung above it. She thought of her abbreviated signature, of the nickname she’d been given by him so long ago. V. The roman numeral for Five. He’d been so amused by their connection. Her brother. Forever thirteen. Forever immortalized there to remind the others that failure was never to be forgotten. Five was a lesson in what happened when children didn’t listen to those who knew better.

“How long has it been since Five disappeared?” She asked, that seed inside of her cracking a little at the sound of his name on her lips.

When had she spoken it last? She couldn’t recall.

She missed him dearly, even so many years later, but she tried not to think about him often. He stayed locked in the box full of painful memories that she kept hidden beneath pills and practice, especially after expelling them all in the book that should never have been shared. It had been painful enough dredging it all up to be immortalized in print. She’d ascribed him as her sole confidant in a house where she was the stranger, and when he’d left her, she’d—

“It’s been 16 years, four months, and 14 days.” Pogo answered, drawing her out of the thoughts. When she looked at him again, he added, “your father insisted I keep track.”

That was no big revelation. Failure should never be forgotten, as Dad liked to say.

That’s not how _she_ remembered him though.

“You wanna know something stupid?” She asked quietly, part of her finally ready to move on and shed herself of this secret now that her father was gone, and nobody could hurt her (or _him_ ) with it. “I always used to leave the lights on for him. I was scared that he would come back, it would be late, and the house would be dark, and he wouldn’t be able to find us, so he’d leave again. So, every night I’d make a little snack and make sure all the lights were on.”

The memory was poignant, and she’d never been able to free herself from the melancholy that turning out the lights at night brought on.

It had never summoned Five home again, and it was one of the few things that she could remember longing for that wasn’t the approval or affection of her father or siblings. She’d never had to prove herself to Five in order to be seen, and she had loved him for that small act. She always would.

“Oh, I remember your snacks.” Pogo said, not unkindly. “I’m pretty sure I stepped in half those peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches.”

Vanya breathed out a quiet chuckle.

Those had always been Five’s favorite, and it had broken her day after day to find them always missing, but never in exchange for his return. At least she knew why her father had never punished her for the nightly ritual, and a part of her cherished Pogo all the more for his discretion, even if after an entire month of it she’d still hoped beyond hope that Five had been sneaking into the house to steal them in the night. She’d imagined during those long, depressing days that he had been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to reappear. Maybe while their father was lecturing them, or maybe during a particularly dangerous mission. Whenever it was, it would be showy and over-the-top, something impressive to prove Dad wrong and get a laugh out of Klaus or Ben.

It had taken six months for that hope to wither. Six more before it died altogether. The sandwiches stopped first, but many years would pass before the lights stayed dark as she accepted the harsh reality that her brother wasn’t coming back.

Pogo seemed to sense where her thoughts had gone.

“Your father always believed that Number Five was still out there somewhere. He never lost hope.”

Vanya didn’t believe him. It was a sweet lie. She knew his words were meant to be a comfort, whether they were true or not, but they didn’t make her feel any better. They didn’t make her feel worse either. They didn’t make her feel anything.

“And look where that got him.” She responded, though she wasn’t sure if she meant her father or her brother. Maybe she meant both. Maybe she meant herself.

In the end it didn’t matter. Hope was useless; hurtful.

There was a heavy silence between them then, and Vanya knew she’d probably made Pogo uncomfortable with her statement. Even though she cared for him, she knew that he was loyal to her father, even to the end. A small wave of sadness rose and then fell. She forced out a half-smile.

“I’m just going to sit here for a little while.” She motioned to one of the antique sofas. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course, Miss Vanya.”

Pogo nodded his head and then excused himself, and after returning her book to the shelf again, Vanya took the seat she’d told him she would, letting her eyes wander back up to Five’s portrait. Her mind drifted into the comfortable haze it lived within most days, and she sat there motionless, staring at her brother’s picture but not really seeing him.

Instead she saw him grin at her after kicking her ankle beneath the table. They were ten, and he’d spelled the word ‘shit’ out on his plate with corn. She’d bit her lip to keep from mirroring his expression, and he’d seemed proud of causing that struggle. She saw him jumping up onto the top most shelves in a flash of blue after they’d snuck out of bed to snack on marshmallows when they were eight, his grin wide and toothy as he showed off his ability to her with glee. For a little while, all of her siblings had done that, each as excited as the next to outdo the other as she cheered them on and expressed how amazing they all were. Once her ordinariness had grown boring to them though, that had stopped. Except for Five. He had been the only one who continued to try and impress her whenever he got the chance.

Vanya wasn’t sure how long she sat there for, but she startled when Allison swept into the room, their brothers on her heels. Luther and Diego sat across from her while Allison and Klaus headed straight for the bar on the back wall, the clink of glass on glass following shortly after.

Vanya kept her eyes down, focused on her hands, keenly aware that Diego was glaring. A moment later Allison sat in an adjoining chair, a tumbler of amber liquid held in her hands while bottles clanked behind them as Klaus continued to forage for something special. Probably something expensive and forbidden up until this point. Allison took a sip, and Luther climbed to his feet, too impatient to wait for their brother.

“I guess we should get this started.” He began. “So, I figured we could have a sort of memorial service in the courtyard at sundown. Say a few words, just at Dad’s favorite spot.”

“Dad had a favorite spot?” Allison asked as Vanya wondered the same.

If he’d had one, she would have guessed it to be behind his desk with a glower and a glass of wine.

“Yeah, you know, under the oak tree.” Luther answered, but when his sister didn’t respond he seemed to feel the need to expound. “We used to sit out there all the time. None of you ever did that?”

The question’s naivety was almost funny. He looked genuinely confused, but Klaus didn’t give anyone time to let the ignorantly callous information chafe too terribly.

“Will there be refreshments?” He asked with an air of whimsy as he swished closer. “Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner.”

“What? No. And put that out.” Luther said as he noticed the hand-rolled cigarette burning in Klaus’s hand. “You know Dad didn’t allow smoking in here.”

“Is that my _skirt_?” Allison asked, cutting off Luther’s admonishment, and Vanya couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at how carefree her brother seemed, his apparent elation at their father’s death an emotion she wished she could share.

Why couldn’t _she_ feel happy about it? Free? Liberated? _Anything_ other than the gray emptiness.

“What?” Klaus asked with a tiny twirl. “Oh, yeah, this. I found it in your room. It’s a little dated, I know, but it’s very breathey on the,” he waved a hand at his groin as if struggling for the right word. “Bits.”

“Listen up.” Luther cut in with a bite of impatience. “There’s still some important things that we need to discuss, all right?”

“Like what?” Diego asked, a recognizable challenge hiding behind the question.

“Like the way he died.”

“And here we go.” Diego muttered, contempt for Luther simmering in his tone.

He had expected this…

Realizing that confused Vanya. Was she being sluggish again? Had there been a discussion without her knowing or did she miss something in the last few minutes? She knew her mind occasionally wandered during conversations or that the meaning of discussions sometimes eluded her, but she hadn’t taken more than her morning pill yet, so she felt a little more confident in voicing her question.

“I don’t understand.” She said evenly as Klaus collapsed onto the sofa beside her. “I thought they said it was a heart attack.”

“Yeah, according to the coroner.” Luther answered, his attention drawn away from Diego.

“Well, wouldn’t they know?” She asked, trying to maintain an air of neutrality, just in case she _had_ missed some critical part of dialogue.

“Theoretically.”

“Theoretically?” Allison asked this time.

 _Theoretically?_ Vanya wondered. What did that mean?

“I’m just saying, at the very least, something happened.” Luther tried to explain. “The last time that I talked to Dad, he sounded strange.”

“Oh, quelle surprise!” Klaus gurgled with a mouth full of liquid.

“Strange how?” Allison asked, ignoring their brother’s antics.

“He sounded on edge. Told me I should be careful who to trust.”

“Luther.” Diego spoke again, standing from his chair. “He was a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what was left of his marbles.”

“No. He must have known something was going to happen.” Luther argued before turning to face Klaus. “Look, I know you don’t like to do it, but I need you to talk to Dad.”

Allison let out a derisive snort at the request, and Klaus pointed at himself in bewilderment.

“I can’t just _call_ Dad in the afterlife and be like, ‘Dad, could you just stop playing tennis with Hitler for a moment and take a quick call?’”

“Since when? That’s your _thing._ ”

“I’m not in the right,” Klaus paused, deciding on his words before finishing with, “frame of mind.”

“You’re high?” Allison’s question was more an accusation, but Klaus didn’t seem to mind as he laughed and agreed.

“Yeah! Yeah. I mean, how are you _not_ , listening to this nonsense?”

“Well sober up, this is important.” Luther demanded, and as Klaus sighed in exasperation he continued. “Then there’s the issue of the missing monocle.”

_Missing—?_

“Who gives a shit about a stupid monocle?” Diego asked, his voice low.

“Exactly.” Luther glanced at them all in turn before ending on Diego. “It’s worthless. So whoever took it, I think it was personal. Someone close to him. Someone with a grudge.”

_A grudge?_

Vanya considered that there must be many out there who harbored one given their father’s brash actions. That didn’t even include the fact that he’d sent his children out to fight crime and step on quite a few toes in the process.

“Where are you going with this?” Her brother asked from beside her.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious, Klaus?” Diego answered, staring up at Luther with a threatening glint in his eye. “He thinks one of _us_ killed Dad.”

 _Wait, what_? One of _them?_ He couldn’t possibly, could he?

But the silence that followed the accusation was more than enough proof. Diego was right, and even Vanya found herself managing to feel surprised. She knew they barely met the definition of a family, but it was ridiculous to think they were so far removed from being one that any of them could think the other guilty of murder. And not just any murder, _this_ murder. Patricide. Did Luther really have no faith, no _trust_ in any of them? Had he ever?

“You do!” Klaus breathed out in disbelief.

“How could you _think_ that?” Vanya asked, unable to reconcile the idea that Luther, the one they’d all been taught to defer to after Dad, Pogo and Grace, could possibly believe this of any of them.

 _They’d_ always been a team and _she_ … well, she was nobody. Not even worth contemplating for something so heinous. Not even physically capable of it. For him to even _consider_ it…

“Great job, Luther.” Diego sneered. “Way to lead.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He tried to backpedal, but the damage was done.

“You’re crazy, man.” Klaus climbed to his feet. “You’re crazy. _Crazy_!”

“I’m not finished!” Luther tried to go on as his brothers began to leave the room.

“Okay well, sorry.” Klaus said with evident sarcasm, twirling back as Vanya got to her feet, eager to put some distance between herself, this conversation, and the emotions that its implication stirred. “I’m just gonna go murder Mom. I’ll be right back.”

“That’s not what I was saying. I didn’t…” And as Vanya left the room, she heard his tone deflate further. “Allison. Jeez…”

But she was too far to hear any more than that, her feet taking her out to the foyer then up the stairs.

Vanya paused for a moment then headed to the right, down a hall, through one door and out another, down another stretch, through an opening ripped between the walls of two buildings, down one more hallway, walking with no destination in mind until she found herself on the parlor balcony. Luther stood alone below her, his large shoulders hunched, but he seemed to sense a witness to his despair, or was otherwise done stewing in it, and he left the room to wander the unseen entrails of their childhood home.

She leaned forward against the rail and stared at her father’s picture as it hung on the wall, prominent and having overlooked their entire conversation with a scowl that never tired. She wondered if he would have been pleased by somebody trying to solve his possible _murder_ , or disappointed that Luther was accusing one of _them_ of having done the deed. Some team. Some _family_. She had no idea about what Dad would have thought of this all though.

There had been little love in the house growing up, but Vanya knew her siblings weren’t monsters. They had, as she’d so succinctly put it in her book, taken their father’s cruelty and made it their own, sure, but she didn’t think any of them were actually capable of hurting one another in the way Luther was accusing them of. Not even against the father none of them much cared for.

Klaus swept back into the parlor then.

He was carrying a glass of liquor and Dad’s ashes, and whatever he had in store, Vanya had no interest in seeing. Whether it was to discard the remains in the fireplace or summon the dead man’s awful spirit, there were no scenarios in which she wanted to be audience to. And so, she left the balcony and wandered further into the house, running her hands along the old walls as memories carried her aimlessly for some time.

She remembered hearing laughter in the halls. Running feet. Taunts and talking. Always distant, but pleasant and comforting despite the quiet sorrow they induced. She’d often hoped they would lead to her bedroom and draw her out, but most days they never did. Before she had discovered the violin, she would sit in her room and watch the open doorway, a book laid out in her lap, the passages scarcely read. It had always been hard for her to focus on much of anything in her formative years, but even that aside, she wanted to be ready to join the others at a moment’s notice. The time it would take to mark her place, she’d feared, might be time enough for them to change their minds.

Recalling those pitiful yearnings for whatever crumbs of attention they might’ve spared brought up old resentments that she’d hoped had been successfully buried. Apparently, they were not; not deep enough.

Eventually Vanya found herself back in the foyer, and with a heavy sigh she took a seat on the stairs and leaned against her knees. She wondered if they were still going to have the memorial service by Dad’s supposed favorite spot, or if Luther’s accusation had marked the end of their brief reunion. Apparently only weddings and funerals were worth the effort – when an invitation had even been extended – and since she couldn’t picture any of her brothers getting married, let alone her getting an invitation, it would likely be another death to bring them all back. It was too terrible to even wonder whose it would be, each name more likely than the next.

They probably wouldn’t come to _her_ funeral. In fact, they probably wouldn’t even know she’d died.

Vanya looked at the front door. Maybe she should just leave. It didn’t seem like anyone would—

But then she heard it. _Music_. From upstairs.

It was a familiar melody.

Vanya felt a smile try to creep onto her face as an 80’s teen icon belted out lyrics to “I Think We’re Alone Now,” and a gossamer memory flickered in her mind. They must have been seven or eight at the time. Dad was out of the house on business, and whenever that happened, Pogo and their mother tended to allow them certain leniencies they were otherwise denied on a normal basis.

They’d all gathered in the basement kitchen at Luther’s behest with a radio and some candy that Five had obtained – from where he’d never confess – and they had all danced together to one pop song after another. They’d leapt onto the table, twirled on the floor, showed off dance moves they’d seen or heard of, and spun one another until they were so dizzy that they’d collapsed into laughing heaps. She could remember Four and Five – as they were all still called at that age – making kissy noises at One and Three when they’d danced together. She could still remember the heat of her blush when Two and Five had arm wrestled over who would get to practice a dance that they’d seen in a movie with _her_ , only for Six to take her hand while they’d been distracted.

They’d held their little dance parties frequently during those years, whenever The Monocle, as they called him in teasing, was away, whenever they were desperate to feel like children and friends rather than an old man’s experiments.

The memory soared and sank, giving her only a glimpse, but that glimpse was enough to buoy Vanya to her feet as she clung to the faint feeling that it stirred. Happiness. Love. Belonging. She was alone here, so there was no harm giving in to it.

Closing her eyes, she pictured herself back in the basement kitchen with them, back before Five had disappeared, back before her estrangement had hit its climax and her exclusion from everything, even the mundane, had been cemented forever. They’d almost been a _real_ family in that shining moment. More importantly, they’d been friends. As the song played from upstairs, Vanya danced and pretended she was back in that place again, back with the group she had craved so desperately to be a part of.

An explosion of sound tore through the music.

The song stopped as a crash of thunder and peel of lightning shuddered through the house, filling the windows with flashes of blue and white glares. Things rattled, fell, and shattered, and Vanya stood there, eyes wide, paralyzed, unsure of what to do. Her mind was blank, and her heart pounded out a frantic rhythm she didn’t recognize.

The doors to her left burst open and she jumped in surprise as Diego rushed out of the parlor and headed deeper into the house.

“Stay here!” He shouted in passing, but she was too shaken to comprehend the command.

Vanya hastened after him, too confused to question or consider the safety of her actions. She simply didn’t want to be alone. He sprinted down a hall towards the courtyard doors, pushed them open without fanfare, and then barged outside with purpose, ready for a fight.

His steps faltered as Vanya caught up.

“Oh.”

Diego’s shocked utterance was drowned by howls of wind and sharp cracks of electricity, and as soon as Vanya stepped outside, she could see the cause, even if she couldn’t understand it. Above their heads, shimmering only feet beyond them, was a… a _what_ exactly? It looked like an image of something, a fence, maybe? A fence and some grass? A portal of some kind? Was that a thing that could happen? She’d seen her fair share of unusual abilities, but she’d never seen anyone create a rift like this before.

“What is it?” She called out, sensing the others pouring from the house behind her.

“Don’t get too close!” Allison warned, as if it needed to be said at all.

“Yeah, no shit!” Diego answered, agreeing with the sentiment.

“Looks like some sort of temporal anomaly.” Luther shouted with confidence. “Either that or a miniature black hole.” He added, lessening the effect. “One of the two.”

“Pretty big difference there, Paul Bunyan.” Diego quipped, and despite the jab at their brother’s size, Vanya was inclined to agree with him.

One could be bad. The other could be _really_ bad.

“Out of the way!” Klaus screeched, suddenly coming up from behind them all wielding a—

“What are you—” Luther started, but he didn’t need to finish as Klaus very obviously tried to spray the anomaly with a bright red fire extinguisher.

But either it was long expired, or he couldn’t get the gist of it. It gave a lackluster sputter, and when it gave nothing else, he hauled it back before flinging it forward with all his might. The canister disappeared into the anomaly with a fizzle.

“What is _that_ gonna do?” Allison cried out.

“I don’t know!” Klaus waved his hands dramatically. “Do you have a better idea?”

Nobody answered, and there wasn’t much time to argue ideas after that as the electric crackles intensified and a figure appeared inside the formation. It was an older man, white-haired and face contorted with an emotion Vanya couldn’t quite read. Desperation? He was nearing the anomaly’s boundary however, and she wasn’t the only one to notice the approach.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Luther’s voice rose above the torrent of sound, and he pulled Klaus by the arm, dragging him backwards. “Everyone get behind me!”

“Yeah, get behind _us!_ ” Diego added, his arm moving out to block Vanya even though she had no intentions of getting closer.

“I vote for running!” Klaus shouted from behind. “C’mon!”

But nobody ran. Nobody moved.

Vanya stared up at the old man as he pushed himself forward, into the raging blue-tinged light, and it seemed to fight against him. His mouth was open in a strained cry, arms reaching out for them as the barrier pushed back, and then something strange – even stranger than what was occurring to begin with – started to happen to his face. It was warping; changing; shifting into something more—

The anomaly gave a sudden shriek as the stranger pushed through its boundary.

His body fell to the ground with a thud, the static shrill and thundering winds fading fast as the light winked out from overhead. It was just him and them, the sudden quiet palpable and intrusive. Vanya’s blood rushed in her ears and she could _feel_ the beating in her chest, a sensation she couldn’t recall experiencing for a long while. She stared at the form, slowly approaching alongside her siblings as he climbed to his feet and then looked up at them with a face he couldn’t possibly have had.

No. _No_. It was impossible.

She couldn’t believe it.

She had to be hallucinating.

“Does anyone else see,” Klaus started as they all neared the increasingly familiar boy, “little Number Five, or is that just me?”

Even hearing her brother ask the question, she couldn’t accept it. How? How was it possible? The boy in front of them looked down at himself, seeming almost as confused as they were to find him standing there in an oversized suit after having dropped out of thin air. When he looked back up, Vanya’s breath caught in her throat.

But it really _was_ him.

“Shit.” Five said, gaping back at them all.

And he sounded exactly like she remembered.


	4. Episode 1 - Five's Return (POV Five)

_Shit._

Five glanced down at his frame again, then back up at his family, his brain and body buzzing with adrenaline. Well. Okay. This wasn’t ideal. Not exactly the homecoming he’d been planning for. Not that he’d planned much beyond 1) get home and 2) stop the apocalypse. The fire extinguisher almost hitting him had been unexpected. He wondered who had thrown it but couldn’t bring himself to ask, still soaking in the sight of them all. The _real_ them. The _living_ them. The them that didn’t only exist in midday hallucinations to debate about what might be inside a mystery can of food and—

 _Shut up!_ Five cut the thought off.

When he blinked, he caught a quick flash of their dead stares, looking up at him from the rubble, blank and yet accusatory. He swallowed, blinked again, and the vision was gone.

 _They’re alive._ He focused on that. _Alive._ And they were together. It had been so long. Too long. They looked good.

And quiet.

Too quiet.

They were more taciturn than he remembered. In fact, what were they _doing_? Why was nobody talking?

It was rude, frankly.

They were gawking, mouths hung open like they’d never met him before, and it was a little annoying. Not even a fucking hello. It was good to see them, sure, but Five had no plans on hanging around outside ‘til they got their shit together. He didn’t have that kind of patience, and he sure as hell didn’t have that kind of time. Not when he was here, and they were alive and needed saving. The clock was ticking.

Besides that, he was hungry. He needed energy. They could catch up when they were ready.

“You know what?” He said. “I could really use a sandwich.”

Then he did a short spatial jump behind them and headed inside.

They’d know where to find him.

He was looking for the necessary tools to make said sandwich when his siblings finally piled into the family room. They sat at the table, but nobody said a thing as he grabbed a cutting board out of the cabinet and then a knife out of the drawer. They watched as he set them down on the table, but still not a peep. This was bordering on asinine. When he turned to grab the bread, he sighed. Apparently, he’d have to start the conversation himself.

Fine.

“What’s the date?” He asked, then thought better of being vague and added, “the _exact_ date.”

“The twenty-fourth.” Vanya was quick to answer, which he’d’ve appreciated more had she been a little more explicit, as per the request.

This was important.

“Of _what_?” He couldn’t keep the irritation from his voice.

“March.” She answered.

At least he didn’t need the damn year with how hard it was getting answers out of this lot. They were acting like they’d seen a ghost, but hell, even _that_ wouldn’t’ve been a shocker given one of them could actively do exactly that.

“Good.” He said instead of voicing that opinion as he twisted the bread bag open.

But it wasn’t good. It was shit. He’d hoped for more time. A lot more time. A week. Would it be enough? Didn’t matter. It would _have_ to be. There was no other alternative.

“So, are we gonna talk about what just happened?” Luther asked as Five pulled two slices out and set them down.

Finally. Yes.

He considered how best to answer that question. He could dive straight into the future that they needed to alter. Bring up the eye; the date; their bodies; the damage. Or he could answer _exactly_ and explain how he’d gotten back here first. Might be easier to start there. Less jarring. Or he could just—

“It’s been _seventeen years_.” Luther stated with impatience, standing up as if that would somehow make his statement more impressive.

It didn’t.

Seventeen years. Was that all? Five scoffed at the paltry figure and stared up at his brother.

“It’s been a lot longer than that.” He said, stepping towards Luther before blinking behind him for the marshmallows.

“I haven’t missed that.” His brother muttered.

“Where’d you go?” Diego asked as Five snatched the bag from the shelf.

“The future.” He answered before blinking back to the cutting board on the other side of Number One. “It’s shit, by the way.”

“Called it!” Klaus chimed in, finally contributing to the conversation, albeit in a predictably useless way that almost brought on a nostalgic smile.

“Eh I should’ve listened to the old man.” Five went on, more to himself, as he stepped over to grab the peanut butter from out of the fridge. “You know, jumping through space is one thing, jumping through time is a toss of the dice.”

His father’s acorn analogy echoed in his head for the millionth time. Even after forty-some-odd years it stung. He looked up after uncapping the jar, noticing for the first time that Klaus wasn’t wearing any pants. That was new. The old man would have _loved_ that. The heel incident hadn’t gone over too well when they were kids, but mostly because of the injury his brother had gotten after falling down the stairs in them. He wondered for a second if this was a first, or something that his brother made a habit of. Probably the latter. But it bothered him, not knowing that answer already. He’d missed so much…

“Nice dress.” He said before looking away, wanting to make some comment on it.

“Oh.” Klaus seemed pleased. “Well, danke.”

“Wait.” Vanya interjected. “How did you get back?”

A decent question, and as good a place to start as any. He obliged.

“In the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time.” He answered, focusing on smearing a thin layer of peanut butter onto the bread.

Didn’t want to overpower the marshmallows. That was the trick.

“That makes no sense.” Diego said.

“Well, it would if you were smarter.” Five retorted, almost feeling like no time at all had passed between them as his brother leapt to his feet, spoiling for a fight he couldn’t win, Luther blocking his way with an arm.

This felt achingly familiar, and Five reveled in that feeling. He couldn’t bring himself to look up and break the wonderful illusion yet.

“How long were you there?” Luther asked.

“Forty-five years. Give or take.” The admission made something deep inside him whimper. He ignored it.

Time hadn’t meant very much then. Days blended into months blended into years. He thought he could hear the wail of wind whistling through destroyed rubble for a second and clenched his jaw.

“So, what are you saying?” Luther asked after he and Diego sat back down. “You’re fifty-eight?

“No.” Five looked up at last, irate because he _should_ have been fifty-eight-ish, but hubris was, as ever, a complete and utter bitch. “My _consciousness_ is 58. Apparently, my _body_ is now 13 again.”

He turned away from his family, bristling over the mishap and yeah, a little embarrassed by it too. He’d only been working on the damn equation for what, four decades? Yeah. He could picture Dad’s disappointed face with startling clarity.

_I told you so…_

“Wait, how does that even work?” Vanya asked as Five put some distance between him and the others.

“Delores kept saying the equations were off.” He muttered, shoving Dad’s voice out of his head, unable to argue with the obvious results, before taking a bite of his sandwich as he pictured her wry smile instead when he turned back around. “Bet she’s laughing now.”

“Delores?”

Shit. He didn’t mean to bring her up. Five didn’t want to share anything more about her so he ignored Vanya’s question, reaching down instead to grab the newspaper that had been sitting on the table. Their father stared back from the front page, the article below citing that his publicly held service had happened two days prior.

“Hmm. Guess I missed the funeral.”

“How’d _you_ know about that?” Luther asked.

Five looked up. Had his brother’s IQ dropped over the decades since he’d been gone? Even forgetting the newspaper _literally_ in his hand—

“What part of the future do _you_ not understand?” He asked, looking back down at the article. “Heart failure, huh?”

“Yeah.” Diego agreed.

“No.” Luther corrected immediately.

“Hmm.” Five clicked his tongue and looked up at the lot of them, amazed at how time couldn’t erase certain things. He really had missed his family, but he was unsure of them. He’d hoped the book hadn’t been so accurate a representation. He had thinking to do. “Nice to see nothing’s changed.”

He started out of the room then, ruminating over whether his family would be an asset here, or a liability. Clearly, they hadn’t grown much in the last seventeen years, and based on the evidence of their first round with the apocalypse, there wasn’t much they could do to stop it themselves. Would he just have to do this _for_ them? That was fine. They could thank him later. He worked better alone anyway, right?

“Uh, that’s it?” Allison spoke up at last as he reached the doorway. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What else is there to say?” Five asked, shutting down the unexpected burst of affection they’d sparked in him. He was determined to stay focused on the business at hand no matter how much he wanted to go back and catch up. This was more important. Stopping the apocalypse was _everything_. “Circle of life.”

Five finished his sandwich on the way up to his bedroom, only giving a perfunctory look at the mansion along the way. Didn’t seem like much had changed. Not surprising. Their father had liked consistency and predictability. Five could respect that these days. He would’ve been lying had he said it wasn’t nice to revisit the old family homestead in all its original glory.

It was strange walking back into his old room though.

His mother kept the place clean and clear of dust. That was standard. What _did_ surprise him was that nothing had been thrown away. So far as Five could tell it looked exactly as he’d left it, right down to the toys he’d already outgrown by the time he’d leapt to the future. Maybe the old man had grown sentimental.

But _he_ hadn’t come up here to ruminate on the past.

He was here for more practical reasons. If he were going to stop the end of the world, he’d need maneuverability, and as much as he liked this suit, it didn’t fit any more. Plain and simple. He pulled the closet door open and stared at the choices. Great. It was full of academy uniforms and nothing else. He rolled his eyes at the sight of them. He did _not_ miss those.

Thumbing through the options however, just to be sure, there was nothing else to choose from. It was this, or he’d have to hit up a department store for something less professional. Finding something tailored to his size and made well enough to withstand a fight would be too time consuming, and he couldn’t even humor the thought of saving the world in jeans and an ironic t-shirt.

“Ah shit.”

He grabbed one out and rolled his eyes again. These would have to do.

After changing into one of the old school uniforms and tucking his treasured keepsake in a sock drawer, Five made his way back downstairs. He glanced towards the dining room to see if anyone had relocated there, only it wasn’t a dining room anymore. It was a salon. No table for eight, only some seats circled around an ornate rug and a small coffee table. He wondered when this had happened.

He stepped into the room, and that’s when he saw the picture hanging above the side fireplace.

“Huh.”

That was new too. He moved closer, sliding both hands into his pockets as he stared up at it. Decent likeness. For a posthumous portrait, the resemblance wasn’t half bad. Must have used private photos for reference. Nothing shared outside the mansion had ever revealed his entire face. Not that their little masks had hid much. Enough though. They’d never gotten harassed when sneaking out at least.

Wondering what pictures might have been used, he heard soft footsteps approach from behind. They weren’t heavy enough for Luther or Diego. Klaus had been barefoot. They were too muted for the heels Allison had been wearing. Grace and Pogo would have announced themselves before getting so close. That left one person.

“Nice to know Dad didn’t forget me.” He said before turning to face Vanya.

He watched her take in the new outfit and applauded the lack of commentary. He knew the others wouldn’t abstain in the same way. She’d never been overly opinionated when they were children, and he had always liked that about her. She watched. She absorbed. And she only spoke when there was something worth saying, or when she tried to stop the Academy from infighting.

Out of all of them, he had missed her the most.

Seeing her without the others crowded around made his heart stutter. Ah. Shit. He was _nervous_. Needing to stamp that down he rushed to say something.

“Read your book, by the way.” He shared, almost immediately regretting the divulgence. It was a grand understatement. Her book had been one of his most cherished possessions, one of the only things he’d brought through with him. He couldn’t share that though, so instead he eased past it. “Found it in a library that was still standing.”

He walked around her, unable to look her in the eye, and he was grateful as ever for her ability to simply listen rather than constantly assert her own sentiments. He’d missed that so much. He loved Delores more than anything, but she loved to give him a piece of her mind whenever possible. She had a lot of opinions.

“I thought it was pretty good.” He confessed, adding a little more softly, “all things considered.”

Between the dismal history she’d shared and the sanity it had given him, the book had been a blessing and a curse. Better to lean on the former, at least in terms of what he wanted to tell her. He faced her again, taking in how accurate the picture on the back sleeve had been, right down to the dour expression and restrained posture. She was pretty, despite her attempts to minimize it. Much prettier than a photo could capture. He couldn’t count how many nights he’d stared at her face in the candlelight, recounting stories of their childhood to Delores and wondering where she might’ve been when the world had ended. He’d dreamt of her countless times and now, seeing her in the flesh, he wasn’t sure what all to say.

“Yeah.” He said at last, agreeing with himself where she had not. “Definitely ballsy, giving up the family secrets. Sure that went over well.”

“They hate me.” She said matter-of-factly.

Yeah. His family had always been petty. He doubted that would have changed any over the years. It hadn’t been the best move on her part, releasing all those secrets that weren’t only hers to keep, but he’d never been more grateful for something so insidious in his life. Besides that, he couldn’t help but like the audacity. It was a side he’d never seen before, and it had fed countless fantasies about the person she’d grown into, fantasies that had kept him going through some of his darker days.

“Oh, there are worse things that can happen.” He said, trying to offer an ounce of comfort even as he caught a whiff of the distant stench of a million decaying bodies wafting on an invisible breeze.

“You mean like what happened to Ben?”

_No, Vanya, dear. I mean like the end of the world._

Ben though. She hadn’t given any details in the book; danced around the topic with poetic prose that masked a truth apparently too terrible for even a tell-all autobiography. Given everything else she’d shared in those pages, Ben’s death must have been truly horrific. He saw their dead faces again, saw the way Luther’s had bloated in the sun days later because he couldn’t work fast enough, couldn’t _move_ him. He swallowed.

 _Focus on the_ now _you shitheel!_

“Was it bad?” He asked, not meaning to pry into something so unpleasant but distracted by his own hideous memories.

She nodded, her eyes falling from his momentarily, and when she looked up again it was his turn to break contact. He didn’t like the pain there; hated that he hadn’t been there for her. Been there for them. Been there to try and stop it from happening. His throat was getting tight with emotion. Shit.

Between the sudden influx of sensitivity and the visions of his time in Hell resurfacing, he couldn’t deal with this. There was too much at stake. Comforting Vanya, reconnecting with her, it was too hard, too much of a distraction. He had to stay focused. He was considering an excuse to leave the room, but one stepped in for him when Luther stopped by the salon entrance.

“We’re doing the memorial now.” He announced, staring at the two of them.

Vanya gave a silent nod, the sound of rain pattering against glass drawing all three sets of eyes to the nearest window.

“Might want an umbrella.” Luther added before walking away.

Five shared one more look with his sister, then the two of them left the room and headed for the courtyard.


	5. Episode 1 - The Memorial

The others were already standing near the courtyard door by the time Five and Vanya got there.

“Nice shorts.” Diego commented with a smirk as he eyed Five.

Their newly arrived brother humored him with a stiff, disingenuous smile, but that didn’t bother him in the least. He’d grown up beside that little asshole’s inability to take criticism or a joke aimed in his direction, and it had only ever made him want to taunt the boy even more.

“I think they’re _adorable_.” Klaus added, unaware of the tension ticking in Five’s jaw. “A real blast from the past.”

“Can we _not_ discuss this.” Five asked between clenched teeth.

Grace began pulling umbrellas from the stand nearby, handing them out with a pleased smile, the same smile she wore any time she did anything for her children. They were her primary function, and she loved them to the breadth that her programing would allow. While her acts of servitude to them provided the closest thing to dopamine she could ever experience, even if she gained nothing from the acts, she would still do whatever she could to assist her children so long as that assistance fell, of course, within the parameters set by Reginald Hargreeves. Klaus waved off her offer, ignorant to the fact that he was denying her that small pleasure as he lifted a gaudy clear and pink umbrella with a grin.

“Is that _mine_?” Allison asked as she passed back the two handed over from Grace, one going to Five and the other to Vanya.

“Why, yes it is.” Klaus admitted, twirling it at his feet, his expression impish as ever. “So nice of you to notice.”

“Is there anything you _didn’t_ take from my room?” Allison asked, a little peeved at the intrusion and considering whether the trouble of taking an inventory would be worth her while.

It wouldn’t.

Her brother had long since hawked anything of _real_ value to be found in there. He hadn’t touched any of the sentimental crap though. He wasn’t a _monster_. Klaus _was_ more than ready to admit that he’d found his dear sister’s dirty magazine beneath her mattress though – which he’d probably remember was his in the first place had he not been high through the majority of his teens – and that he’d almost taken his _liberties_ with it in the bathroom. It would have been a fantastic fuck-you to their father, but Ben had been so vocally disgusted by the shameless act that even Klaus couldn’t get it up. He’d think of some other lewd act to degrade dear old dad’s memory with later, and if Ben had anything to say about _that_ , well… Klaus would drown him out with a Quaalude beforehand.

“Is everyone ready?” Luther asked before Klaus could share any of this, one of his arms wrapped around their father’s ashes, the heaviness of them surprising.

He was eager to scatter them, to give Dad a proper send off, and was bolstered by the fact that it seemed a little like fate that Five would return for this. It had to mean that he was right about their father’s death, and maybe the others would actually listen now that they were all back together again. His siblings nodded, and then there was nothing left to do but get on with it. He pushed open the door and led the way.

Diego followed on Luther’s heels. He’d refused an umbrella from Mom too, not because Luther had first – at least that’s what he told himself – but because he didn’t need one. Rain had never bothered him, and besides that, he liked to stay ready. Having his hands free was important. As they stepped out into the rain, he waited for his mother, then laid a hand against her back and guided her forward. She seemed off today for some reason, and he felt better keeping her close.

Once Allison walked out, Vanya waved Five onward when he glanced her way. She was prepared to do the same with Klaus, but he was too immersed with finding something in his pocket, so she followed the others and opened her umbrella as she stepped into the rain. The air was cool against her skin, a welcome change after her strange conversation in front of the fire. She hadn’t quite stopped reeling from her brother’s return yet, and then hearing he’d read her book, hearing him _compliment_ her book; it was weighing on her in unexpected ways. She was off balance, more _present_ than usual, and the sensation was evocative.

Suddenly she was a child again, being reassured by the only person who ever seemed to pay her any mind as the days counted down before the Umbrella Academy would be announced to the world, as they waited for the right opportunity to show themselves to the public. She’d been ignored with increasing frequency in those pre-teen years as her father forced her to act assistant to him while the others trained and played and worked together. Five, Ben, and sometimes Klaus, were the only ones who didn’t glare at her with eventual distrust and antipathy, the only ones who’d understood she hadn’t asked for that role any more than they had asked for theirs.

Filing behind Allison, Vanya’s feet took her to the far side of their mother, putting the _academy_ on one side and herself on the other. It was an ingrained action, instinct at this point, and she only recognized it when her mother spoke, but by then it was too late to do anything else.

“Did something happen?” The question came out confused, concerned.

She knew _that_ feeling. Vanya felt a new and sudden kinship to her. Looking at Mom, she remembered the strange behavior from before, when her greeting had gone ignored. She didn’t love her mother in the same way she had as a child, their father’s influence too obvious sometimes, but it was concerning, nonetheless.

Klaus wondered if robots could get stoned and if Mom would be inclined to share her secret. A shock from the wall outlet maybe? _Oh wait_ , he remembered then, rooting through his other pocket.

Five considered a possible failsafe put in place by their father that might dismantle their mom upon his demise.

“Dad died.” Allison answered for them all with a puzzled frown, not at all sure what to make of her mother’s question. “Remember?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Their mother agreed.

But it didn’t sound convincing, not to any of them. There was something off about her tone, something they couldn’t put a finger on. It worried Diego, more than he would ever admit to any of them.

“Is Mom okay?” Allison asked, directing it towards him first.

He’d always been the closest to Mom after all. If anybody would recognize an issue, it would likely be him.

“Yeah.” Diego answered, not real happy about his sister even posing the question.

Klaus distanced himself from the situation as he pulled out the joint he’d hidden in his recently acquired cigarette case. He wondered if a nice electrifying surge aimed upstairs could fry his brain in a desirable sort of way. He’d never tried electroshock before.

“Yeah, she’s fine.” Diego went on. “She just needs to rest. You know, recharge.”

Five didn’t believe that, but he had more important things to think about than Mom’s maintenance, so he slipped into the comfortable state of cold indifference he’d been reaching for since arrival. Allison was skeptical too, but she decided not to press the issue. Before they could discuss the situation further, Pogo joined them from the other end of the courtyard and came to a stop on the other side of Vanya, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Whenever you’re ready, dear boy.” He said, looking up at Luther.

Vanya watched her brother uncap their father’s urn, and once again she was struck by the same sense of loss she’d felt at the news of his death. Reginald Hargreeve’s book was closed, and the last words it would ever say was that he’d been a horrible father. Those words could never change anymore. She hadn’t held onto any naïve notions that they would, but there were always chances in life. Chances for change. For redemption. Death provided no such opportunities. There would never be any reconciliations here.

Luther poured out the ashes, and she watched as they fell into an inelegant heap on the ground. The lack of fanfare might have been comical had it not been so sad. She wasn’t sure _any_ result would have produced a better reaction though.

Klaus cringed at the spectacle, pretty sure he’d spotted a peanut or something in the midst of the ashes. From when he’d spilled them on the counter? Wait. Had there even _been_ peanuts on the counter? He tried to remember. Regardless, if it _was_ a peanut, he hoped nobody else noticed. He hoped _Dad_ didn’t notice. That’d get him an ear full.

Diego teetered on the edge of a very inappropriate laugh when he looked up and noticed his brother’s chagrined expression. Dad didn’t deserve anything better, and it was funny that the universe agreed. Cosmic fucking justice for once.

Allison just felt sorry for Luther. Dad’s ashes could have been flushed down the toilet for all she cared, but it was _his_ feelings she worried about. Luther deserved a better conclusion, especially since he had been the one to insist on having this in the first place.

Five watched with clinical detachment. He couldn’t have cared less about the memorial. Ceremony didn’t matter a whole lot when the world was coming to an end. He looked at his siblings in turn and wondered if any of them had the emotional capacity to even accommodate a reality of this magnitude. Maybe Vanya. She’d always been good at listening. She wouldn’t ask him the wrong questions or try to argue about things.

“Probably would have been better with some wind.” Luther stated with his disappointment on full display and stinging in his chest.

Dad deserved better than this, he thought. It didn’t have to be something spectacular, but their father was a visionary; a great man who had earned the right to at least a decent memorial service. Luther was frustrated that he couldn’t even give him that much. Another failure added to the list.

“Does anyone wish to speak?” Pogo asked then.

He, like Luther, truly believed that Reginald Hargreeves deserved more.

Diego rolled his eyes at the question. Yeah, everyone would be _really_ happy to hear him speak about Dad. Maybe he would, he considered, hate thrumming hard against his ribcage.

Klaus took a long drag on his joint. What could be said? Dad had lived. He’d been a bastard. And now he was dead. Boo hoo. Life sucks, and it goes on. Well, for them. Not for dear old Dad.

Five rolled the glass eye in his pocket and wondered for the millionth time who it could belong to. At this very moment there was some one-eyed asshole just strolling around the city plotting the end of times. All he had to do was find them. He wondered if handing the eye to Vanya before starting in about talks of the apocalypse would be too much. She’d never been desensitized to gore like the rest of them. But it was just an eye. Not even bloody anymore. Maybe he’d explain first and _then_ hand it to her. He’d need a cup of coffee before talking either way. He was exhausted and needed the caffeine.

Vanya kept her eyes cast down. She wasn’t inclined in the least to talk about their father, and even if she had been, she wouldn’t have had anything kind to say.

Allison felt the same as her sister. She had quite a few things she could have said, but she preferred to hold her tongue. She wouldn’t stoop so low as to bad mouth the dead, even if it might have felt a little liberating to do so.

Luther _wanted_ to speak, but he was afraid he’d just mess that up too. Better to keep quiet, he decided.

“Very well.” Pogo said when nobody answered, a sad sort of acceptance to his tone. “In all regards, Sir Reginald Hargreeves made me what I am today. For that alone, I shall forever be in his debt.”

Diego bristled at the eulogy. None of them owed that bastard a damn thing. Least of all Pogo, who’d been just as much a slave for their Dad as their mother had been.

“He was my master.” Pogo went on, confirming Diego’s dark considerations. “And my friend, and I shall miss him very much.”

The rain began to fall a little faster, and Vanya hoped that it would cut Pogo’s speech short. It was difficult hearing somebody hold this level of affection for such an unlovable and cruel individual. She couldn’t help but wonder if Pogo felt the same about the rest of them; that Dad was responsible for what they were today too. He was though, she supposed. She wondered if Dad was _their_ master too, and they’d just never realized it. She was a little hurt that Pogo seemed okay with it all.

“He leaves behind a complicated legacy—”

“He was a monster.” Diego interrupted, unable to tolerate another word of praise.

Klaus laughed at the sudden disturbance. Funerals man. They were the best. It was also nice to hear somebody else shit-talk Dad for a change. He could always count on Diego for backup in that department. The others less so. Too much decorum.

Vanya glanced at Klaus. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed, genuine or otherwise. Even though it wasn’t exactly appropriate, she admired his defense mechanism. Her own was whispering that the bottle in her pocket wouldn’t be too difficult to open with one hand if she tried. The last hour had left her as sensitive as an exposed nerve, and it wasn’t a sensation she enjoyed.

Allison started to raise her walls and stiffened her back. Her brother wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot. She knew him well enough. She watched as Luther’s face hardened, and God, she just wanted this mess to be done and over with. She wanted to go home and see Claire. She wanted to move on from all of this ugliness.

Five wondered where in the kitchen they might’ve kept the coffee. He couldn’t remember Dad ever drinking any as a kid, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t in a cabinet somewhere _today_. So long as it wasn’t instant, he’d take anything. Had he even seen a coffee maker in there though?

“He was a bad person and a worse father.” Diego continued, pulling the words straight out of everyone’s heart. “The world’s better off without him.”

“Diego.” Allison snapped, warning him to stop, knowing that Luther wouldn’t stand for much more of this. She didn’t understand his loyalty, didn’t understand why he still seemed to care, but she knew it was there and she didn’t want him hurting needlessly.

Vanya couldn’t blame her brother for his rant. She envied his passion and courage to rage at the world, at them, at their father. She’d buried her own subdued anger in the pages of a book, but he shouted his to the world. Laid it out, witnesses be damned. Maybe that was _his_ defense mechanism.

“My name is _Number Two_.” He said defiantly, daring her to argue, to come to Dad’s defense. She did neither, merely pursed her lips and raised her walls a little higher. “You know why?” He went on. “Because our _father_ couldn’t be bothered to give us actual names. He had Mom do it.”

Nobody could argue with that fact, but Luther felt his patience dwindling fast. This was their father’s _funeral_ for god’s sake, and there was Diego, trying to be center of attention, attacking somebody who couldn’t even defend themselves. It was unseemly.

“Would anyone like something to eat?” Grace asked at the sound of her title, a slight tremor in her voice as she sensed rising stress but felt uncertain of how to stop it.

She never liked to see them fighting. Cooking, baking specifically, had worked more often than not when they’d been very small. It hadn’t been a viable tactic for some time, but maybe it would work again.

“No, it’s okay, Mom.” Vanya answered for everyone, keenly aware of the weight growing in her pocket and feeling increasingly antsy about getting to it sooner rather than later.

She liked conflict as little as her mother, and if she couldn’t escape it, couldn’t stop it, then making herself inured to it was the only alternative. She could feel her anxiety creeping higher by the second, and sensing the rise made her _more_ nervous, throwing her into an ever-intensifying feedback loop.

“Oh. Okay.” Grace gave a small nod but didn’t seem comforted.

“Look, you wanna pay your respects?” _Number Two_ started up again, undeterred as he neared Dad’s ashes. “Go ahead. But at least be honest about the kind of man he was.”

The last words were aimed at Pogo, and that was the last straw for Luther. The disrespect had gone on for too long.

“You should stop talking now.” He cautioned their brother.

Diego turned and gave him an appraising look. It sickened him that his brother was still the loyal little lapdog. Even now. Even after everything. How _could_ he be? How could he not loath their father just as much, if not more? It pissed him off, and he wondered if his brother was too weak to think for himself. Too stupid. Too broken. Maybe he always had been.

“You know, you of all people should be on my side here, _Number One_.” He jeered.

Vanya eyed them both, the bottle in her pocket _so_ heavy and the pulsing ache in her chest growing stronger. She wanted it to go away. She wanted this to stop. Needed it to stop.

“I am _warning_ you.” Luther’s threat fell on deaf ears as Diego went on.

“After everything he did to you?”

Five was getting bored of his brothers’ pissing contest. It was already old back when they were kids. He had better places to be, better things to do. His knees were getting cold. He hated this damn uniform. He wondered if Klaus was bored too, his brother never a bastion of patience. Glancing over, he found Four enraptured by the drama instead. And was that – Five squinted at what he had assumed was a cigarette. _Son of a bitch_. Between One, Two and now Four, it was more obvious than ever. Nothing _had_ changed at all since they were kids.

“He had to ship you a million miles away.” Diego was creeping closer to Luther as he talked, and Vanya could see that they were reaching a boiling point.

“Diego, stop talking.” Luther growled.

“That’s how much he couldn’t stand the sight of you!” Diego jabbed his fingers into Luther’s chest as indignation and pain fired the hateful words from his mouth faster than he could consider them.

And that was the breaking point.

Without another word Luther pushed his brother’s arm away from him and took a swing. The fist cut through the air fast and hard. Diego ducked beneath it just in time. He barely stood before another came at him, leaning back to narrowly avoid getting struck. Both brothers saw nothing but red, and neither could stop themselves any more than they could stop the blood from rushing in their ears or pumping through their veins.

Allison walled herself off completely. She was done. Done with them. Done with this failed excuse of a service. Just done. Vanya was hit with a punch of panic in her stomach and she grabbed their mother, pulling her back from the violence.

“Boys, stop this at once!” Pogo shouted, but neither was listening.

Klaus’ excitement ramped up when the fighting began, but in a moment of clarity he realized little Number Five was – well, he was just a _little_ guy. He didn’t have a particular fondness for children, but this was his brother, his _little_ brother, and he knew what could happen to his brothers when Luther got involved. His arm swung out to protect Five and – _Oh!_ Diego landed a hit! He winced at the scene, barely feeling the small hand bat him out of the way.

What the hell was Klaus _doing_? Five swatted his brother’s arm away from him and stepped to the side, annoyed, and then distracted as the sound of a fist landing home was followed by a cry of pain.

“Come on big boy!” Diego taunted, ducking under another oncoming blow before coming at Luther from the side and pelting him against the back.

Vanya could barely breathe as anxious fingers clawed their way up from her intestines. This was wrong. This was all wrong. They were supposed to be on the same side! They were supposed to be a team. Friends. They were supposed to be _family_!

“Stop it!” The shout burst from her as Diego drove his forearms down onto Luther’s back.

“Hit him!” Klaus cheered from the other side of their semi-circle, enthralled by the fight again after his tiny bout of brotherly conscience had struck out of nowhere before fucking off again. “ _Hit him_!”

Five’s patience was depleted. They were a lost cause.

Pogo thought so as well. He was disgusted by their display. Sir Reginald deserved better than this, and it distressed him to watch the children degrade his memory in such a manner. He could watch no more. Shaking his head, he turned and walked away.

Vanya stared, stupefied as her brothers kept at it. None of the hits Luther took seemed to slow him down in the least, and he was too lumbering to land very many of his own. But then he grabbed hold of Diego’s shirt and held him in place.

“Get off me!” Diego grunted, struggling fiercely before his brother finally lost his grip.

He landed a solid punch to Luther’s face right after, but it did nothing. They were both panting, both tired, physically and emotionally. They were fighting to prove more than who could take or dish out a better beating. They were fighting to prove that once and for all, Reginald Hargreeves deserved neither their love nor respect.

Five had seen enough. He was cold. He was decaffeinated. And his brothers were immature morons.

“We don’t have time for this.” He grumbled, turning away from them at last and heading back towards the house.

“Come here, big boy!” Diego shouted, daring his brother to show him what he could do.

Luther, up for the challenge, charged at his brother with his fist already flying. It swung wide and Diego dropped at the last second. Luther couldn’t stop the momentum though. Ben’s statue took the full force of his hit, the sound of knuckles on stone ringing through the air before the monument toppled to the ground. It crashed with a gritty snap as the head flew off and slid away.

“Oh…” Klaus winced and moaned. He would never hear the end of this.

“And there goes Ben’s statue.” Allison couldn’t stand a second more.

Rolling her eyes, she turned and followed the same path Five had taken. When she reached the door, Diego escalated the situation further. He pulled out one of his daggers, and Vanya’s heart skipped a beat.

“Diego, no!” She cried, the panic behind her breast fighting its way to freedom.

But he sent it flying anyway.

The dagger sliced through the air with a hiss and caught Luther’s sleeve, slashing it open.

Luther swung sideways in surprise and grabbed at his forearm with a panting gasp. His mind went blank with sudden alarm, less because of the violence from his brother, and more because he couldn’t stand the idea of his secret being revealed. Not to them. Holding his hand to the injury, Luther trudged past Diego, back towards the mansion to hide his shame. Not only was he embarrassed, but he had failed at being Number One in every conceivable way. He’d let their father’s service crumble. He’d let Diego get under his skin and undermine him. The gravity of those failures sat on his shoulders as he pushed his way into the house to hide.

Stunned at her brother’s willingness to do more than rough Luther up, and suffocating on the sensations beginning to overwhelm her, Vanya trudged over to Diego. She couldn’t help but think of all the times he’d made her cry as a teen because his temper had taken things _too far_ , how many times he and Luther had been hurt or punished because they always had something to prove, of when he’d broken her spirit and betrayed her affection for the final time.

“You never know when to stop, do you?” She asked him; accused him.

Diego shook his head and felt a retort try to escape, an unwelcome stutter holding it back as his frayed nerves and dissipating anger tried to cool with the icy rain dripping down his back. He knew he’d gone too far. He wasn’t stupid. He knew it, felt it in his gut, but he couldn’t stand letting _Vanya_ be indignant over his actions. She didn’t have that right, not anymore. She’d gone out of her way to make them all look cruel and weak and foolish under their asshole father’s thumb to the entire world; to make _him_ look fragile and callous. As far as he was concerned, she had no room to judge any of them. She wasn’t _better_ than him.

“You got enough material for your sequel yet?” He needled, deflecting the accusation back at her.

They stared at one another, both hurting in different ways, and both unable to express it in a manner the other would understand.

“He was my father, too.” She answered, struck once more by what an outsider she was to him, to them all, before turning and walking away. Coming back had been a bad idea.

Diego stood there for a moment, letting the rest of his temper seep out. He hated that she’d betrayed them the way she had, and he resented her for making him feel that way. They’d been friends once. Long ago. Before Five had left. Before the Academy had gone public. More after. He couldn’t even remember what that felt like anymore. Catching the last of his breath, he realized that Mom was still standing there.

She was staring at nothing. She didn’t even seem to notice that a fight had come and went. Her indifference tore at him, and he worried about her. She needed to get out of this rain. Maybe that would help. Diego gently took her arm.

“Mom? Let’s go inside.” She smiled and let him pull her towards the door. “Come on.” He urged, keeping his tone soft. “Okay? Come on.”

Klaus watched everyone leave, one by one, still not entirely sure who had won that fight. Hmm. Diego, he decided as he stood. Luther forfeited by running off. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Mom and his brother had gone back inside, he strolled over to Dad’s ashes and crouched down in front of them.

“I bet you’re _loving_ this. Hmm? The team, _at its best._ It’s just like old times.”

At its best; what a laugh.

Old Reggie never thought so, but then again, Dad had never been known for his sense of humor. Klaus looked down into the ashes. Oh yay! Not a peanut after all. Just some bits of bone. What a relief. He took one last pull on his joint, then stubbed it out in his father’s remains, a grin growing on his face. A rant, a fight, a beheading; cucumber sandwiches really _would_ have made it all perfect, but still…

He stood and headed back for the house.

“Best. Funeral. Ever!”

Ben followed invisible behind him, very much in disagreement, but unable to express the deep heartache he felt at watching his siblings hurt one another. It wasn’t the statue he cared about breaking, it was their relationships. They were all they had, but even Dad’s death couldn’t heal things between them. It depressed him beyond words, not that words would have helped, not when nobody could hear them.


	6. Episode 1 - Getting Coffee (POV Five)

Five glanced over his shoulder as Klaus swayed into the downstairs kitchen wearing a look of curious fascination. His feet were bare again, his posture relaxed. He looked ready to burst into a discussion, but Five had no interest in listening to anything before he got what he wanted. Coffee first. Anything else could wait.

He glared at the intrusion.

Klaus’ mouth closed before it could barely open, and he lifted his hands with an easy grin, revealing a pair of tattoos that had gone unnoticed before. _Hello_ , and _Goodbye_ they said, and Five almost – _almost –_ barked out a laugh at Klaus’ unnecessary Ouija board declarations. When everything was over, he really wanted to grab a drink with Number Four. They had a lot to catch up on.

“Oh, don’t mind me. Just letting you know the fight finished. Diego 1. Luther 0. I think.” Klaus said, strolling over to a guitar set in the corner before plucking it up, cradling it, and twirling it over to the seat at the end of the table.

 _Whose…? Nope._ Didn’t matter.

Klaus fell into the chair and kicked up his feet, and Five chose to take his brother’s advice and not give him any mind.

He turned back to the task at hand. Was there really no coffee in this whole damn place? The storage pantry had been a bust and this was his last hope if he wanted to avoid leaving. He rummaged through the shelves, pushing things around with a scowl, displeased. This was ridiculous. There was a French press sitting there and everything. What was it even _here_ for? Who kept a French press but no coffee? _Who_?

“Where’s Vanya?” Allison’s voice invaded the space as she joined them.

“Oh. She’s gone.” Klaus answered, strumming lightly at the guitar strings.

He would have to go find some coffee elsewhere. No getting around it.

“That’s unfortunate.” Five finished the thought out loud, turning to face his siblings. He’d been hoping to avoid the pit stop.

“Yeah.” Allison agreed.

“An entire square block.” Five complained, setting the empty press down onto the table. “Forty-two bedrooms, 19 bathrooms, but no, not a single drop of coffee.”

A French Press and no coffee. Who _even_? He couldn’t get over it.

“Dad hated caffeine.” Allison said, her expression suggesting he should have known that already.

And yeah, he did. But still. Couldn’t blame a man for having hopes.

“Well, he hated children too, but he had plenty of us.” Klaus joked with an unenthusiastic laugh.

There was no helping it then.

“I’m taking the car.” Five declared.

“Where are you going?” Klaus asked, lowering the guitar so he could lean forward.

Had they not heard a word he’d said? _Unbelievable_.

“To get a decent cup of coffee.” He answered, annoyed.

“Do you even know _how_ to drive?” Allison asked, her expression suggesting greater disbelief than her question alluded to.

“I know how to do everything.” Five told her, aggravated by the lack of faith just because he was trapped in this indignant sack of pubescent hormones that _may_ or _may not_ have had him feel a little more intense than usual.

Before he could linger on the thought, he turned and jumped out to the alley.

Wouldn’t do to dwell on stuff he couldn’t control yet. He didn’t have time for the mental breakdown that was sure to come if he started to consider how this physiological change could impact things like mood and memory, both of which he’d managed to forge into a sharp and disciplined tool over the years. If he stopped to think about it too long, he might just snap, so he turned off the tap to his emotions _yet again_ – go figure it was leaky as hell – and climbed into Dad’s old car.

He needed to get a handle on things dammit.

All else aside, the rampant mood swings wouldn’t make him the most likeable person to be around. Not that he was to begin with. Delores, ever the critic, had told him that plenty, but at least she loved him anyway. At the thought of her, a swell of melancholic longing bullied its way forward.

 _It’s okay Five, I’m right here_ … her voice echoed to him from the past.

Clearing his throat, he swallowed down the lump forming in it before shoving everything back down one more time. Maybe some meditation once the whole apocalypse thing finally blew over. Or maybe he could get good with the Commission somehow. Maybe they could fix this.

He mulled over the possibilities as he drove the car to Griddy’s Doughnuts. The Commission, of course, would be pissed either way. He’d broken his contract _and_ was actively going against their – as _The Bitch_ liked to call it – raison d’etre. He hated the term. Hated when she said it even more. Just thinking of her made his skin crawl. Bullshit is what it was. They’d try to stop him once they figured out what he was doing. Probably wouldn’t be too keen on helping after that either, especially if he succeeded.

Well. Maybe he wouldn’t give them a choice.

Deciding to slot that deliberation for later, Five pulled up to a curb outside the doughnut shop and parked the car. It looked as dingy as ever. Dingier, maybe. Given he hadn’t seen it in over forty years it was a sight for sore eyes either way. He cut off the engine then got out of the car and marched his way inside, determined to enjoy a nice cup of coffee and figure out whether or not he wanted to confide in Vanya about why he was there.

When he stepped inside it was blissfully empty. A good thing too ‘cause if he didn’t get some caffeine in him soon, he was liable to kill somebody. He took a seat at the counter and gave the bell a double tap before the front door jingled open behind him. Figured.

He sighed, then looked over his shoulder as the footsteps approached. Blue-collar worker wearing flannel and a trucker’s hat. Around his age; his _real_ age. Soft around the middle. Probably not a threat, but you could never be too sure. He side-eyed the man as he sat, dropped his cap to the counter and then pulled out a newspaper and pen. A crossword puzzle guy. He’d done his fair share of those. He was more a sudoku man himself.

The waitress finally came out as Five decided that the guy wasn’t there to kill him.

“Sorry, sink was clogged.” She apologized with a friendly chuckle. “So, what’ll it be?”

She looked at the man beside Five first. Okay. Sure. _He’d_ been there first, but that was fine. She didn’t know that.

“Uh, give me a chocolate éclair.” He requested.

“Mm-hmm. Sure.” She glanced at Five then, but only long enough to acknowledge that she’d seen him before directing her next question at the other customer again. “Can I get the kid a glass of milk or something?”

_Son of a bitch. Seriously?_

The guy beside him stared at the waitress, bemused, and Five scoffed. He hated this body.

“The kid wants coffee.” He answered in a clipped tone, trying to keep in mind that the misunderstanding wasn’t _actually_ her fault. “Black.”

She stared at him, as bemused as her other customer. She smiled though, like any good waitress, and looked at the guy she _thought_ was older than Five, the guy she clearly seemed to think was his guardian.

“Cute kid.” She complimented with a tense laugh.

_For fuck’s sake…_

The man beside Five looked lost but didn’t say anything. What was there to say? They weren’t related, and he had no place to argue the request.

When the waitress looked his way again, sensing something off about the situation but unable to pinpoint what, Five resisted the sudden compulsion for violence by forcing out an old smile he’d practiced long ago in his youth. It was one he’d set aside for Dad’s colleagues when they’d come to the house. The old man would parade out the Academy and force them to mingle – on their best behavior of course – so Five did his damndest to make everyone around him as uncomfortable as he was annoyed. His I’m-stabbing-you-repeatedly-in-my-mind grin worked every time. It was a little rusty, but he hoped it would be effective despite how unnatural it felt on his face.

Predictably unsettled, she nodded and slipped her notepad back into her apron, giving a quiet, “okay,” before turning to place their respective orders.

_Still got it._

Five let it drop and sighed again, allowing his eyes to wander. The entire mix-up had soured him a little to the charm Griddy’s held less than a minute before.

“Don’t remember this place being such a shithole.” He commented, not talking to the man beside him, but not, _not,_ talking to him either.

“I used to come here as a kid.” He continued, more actively directing the conversation toward the stranger. “Used to sneak out with my brothers and sisters and eat doughnuts ‘til we puked.”

He remembered standing with his brothers, waiting on their order. Allison and Vanya usually sat in a booth by the window behind them. Allison would have the latest teen-whatever magazine. Vanya would explore the room with her eyes. Luther would keep stealing glances their way, even before they’d been old enough to understand what it meant. Ben had always been the well-behaved brother, bringing a book or magazine. Five, Diego and Klaus would flick bits of trash back and forth with whatever dirty silverware there was left on the tables. Diego would flick them at the back of Luther’s head whenever he wasn’t looking.

Every now and then, if there were too many other people around for their liking, Allison would rumor them out of the diner. Sometimes without their food. Sometimes without their cash because nobody had been able to swipe some from Dad. Vanya disapproved every time, but only with the smallest of scowls that disappeared as soon as doughnuts got to the table. Five didn’t miss much about his youth, but being able to spend time with the others, even if it was stolen time, was one of the few things on that list.

“Simpler times, huh?”

“Eh. I suppose.” The man beside him answered, looking puzzled. Five was okay with that. The agreement was enough. He didn’t need the guy to understand.

A couple seconds later the waitress returned, clearing her throat as she carried an éclair wrapped in paper and a steaming mug. She set Five’s coffee down first, her eyes flicking to the tattoo on his wrist as he reached for it. The Academy didn’t seem to be relevant anymore, so he wasn’t concerned about it getting recognized. She set the pastry down next, and the stranger beside him held out some cash.

“I got his.” He offered.

“Thanks.” Five said, noticing the patch on the man’s vest for the first time.

Ishmael’s Towing. Meant he drove for a living. He’d know things. Addresses. These facts registered off to the side as a beat of loneliness drummed Five’s heart. It had been a long day; a long year; an even longer lifetime. And it would only be in case of emergency, he rationalized, opening his mouth to talk before he thought better of it.

“You must know your way around the city.” He said conversationally.

“I hope so. I’ve been driving it for 20 years.”

“Good. I need an address.”

“Sure. I’ll give it my best.”

“Gimble Brothers?”

“Oh sure. I know the place. Here.” The tow driver grabbed a napkin and jotted down the address, along with a few landmarks that would help get Five there.

They said their goodbyes after that, and a minute later Five was sitting alone.

He folded the napkin and pocketed it with a sigh, a little ashamed of himself, but it could get in line after the day he’d had already. And sure, yeah, he’d promised Delores that he would move on, focus on his family once he found a way back, but he couldn’t deny the comfort he got just knowing where she was. If he needed her, he knew where to find her, and she’d be there for him. As always. He felt better for it.

He reached for his cup, ready to take a sip at long last, when the door to the diner opened once more. He looked at the service bell this time to glimpse the customer in the reflection. But it wasn’t only _one_ person, and they weren’t customers. Not unless tactical gear and M4s were _in_ this time of year. He was no Number Three when it came to fashion, but he wasn’t a Number One either. These boys were here for him.

One, two, three, four, five, he counted, noting their positions, and keeping an eye on them as he visualized a plan of attack.

“That was fast.” He said as they lined up behind him, disappointed that his coffee might go completely cold before he’d even get to enjoy it. Best laid plans… Maybe if he worked fast. “I thought I’d have more time before they found me.”

Time. That always was the issue, wasn’t it?

“Okay.” The man standing nearest him started. “So let’s all be professional about this, yeah?”

Professional, Five mused. Sure. He could show them professional.

“On your feet and come with us.” The guy continued. “They wanna talk.”

“I’ve got nothing to say.” The old ticker was beginning to beat faster in anticipation.

He was _excited._ Shit. That was new. Had to be the body. He focused on slowing it down.

“It doesn’t have to go this way.” The hired gun warned. “You think I wanna shoot a kid? Go home with that on my conscience?”

Always with the fucking kid commentary.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Five’s loneliness, nostalgia, and all the other emotions he’d been struggling with since his return faded into a deep darkness. He felt calm. Ready. The way he always felt before killing. The taint of excitement persisted, but he could deal with that. “You won’t be going home.”

After flashing the gunman a smirk, Five picked up the butter knife beside his hand and jumped behind the guy, stabbing him in the throat and jumping again right as the gun started to pop off aimlessly in surprise. He landed himself on the counter in the cockiest pose he could conceive of – because why _not –_ and called out to the remaining hitmen.

“Hey assholes!”

He blinked away before they began to fire on him. Their reflexes were for shit. Their aim too. He watched from outside the diner as they fired into the doughnut display, riddling the sign above it with holes and shattering glass. What a waste of doughnuts. Bunch of morons. He rapped on the door with his knuckles, saluted when they turned, and as they were raising their weapons to react, he was already gone.

The others went down just as easy as the first. Incapacitated one with a stab to the side using a broom handle. Jump. Another got his neck snapped with Five’s tie, evidence that quality of material _was_ important when it came to combat. Jump. One took a pencil to the eye. Jump. Two shot at one another with predictable idiocy. Jump.

Simple.

Efficient.

Sometimes killing was too easy.

Five walked to one of the bodies and removed the tie he’d used to murder with. He looped it back over his head, tucked it into his jacket again, and started on straightening his collar when he heard somebody on the floor gasping for air. Not on his watch. He walked over, grabbed the man’s head with both hands, then wrenched it up and twisted ‘til it gave a satisfying snap.

They wanted professional? They got professional.

What did the Commission like to call it? Oh yeah. Total asset liquidation.

He noticed their tracking device on the floor and picked it up. Before heading back to the counter, he searched the bodies for a combat knife, then sliced a long strip of fabric from the shirt under his jacket. He set the device down, rolled up his sleeve, and laid his arm out flat in front of him. Should have done this sooner, but if his family was good for anything, it was distraction.

Gritting his teeth, Five pushed the tip of the knife into his skin and grunted as he slid it backwards, opening a wound large enough to dig his fingers into. They liked to bury it in the meat. Probably to avoid _this_. With a wince, he gouged a few fingers into his arm and sifted through the blood, fat and muscle until he felt the round, bullet sized machine.

He dredged it out and held it up, admiring the craftsmanship. Little fucker.

With that out of the way, Five wrapped the length of cloth around his new injury and tied it tight using his teeth and free hand. He wondered if his coffee might still be warm enough to enjoy, searching for it across the counter. He sighed at the sight of it. One of those inconsiderate assholes had shot it. Half the coffee was on the counter, the other half filled with bits of ceramic. So much for that.

He wanted to pour himself another, but knowing he couldn’t hang around the scene for much longer – somebody would have called the cops after all that gunfire – Five stood and left the building instead. All else aside, it was a job well done. He dropped the tracker into the gutter as he made for the car, making sure that his tie was straight as a satisfied smirk found his face.

Nothing like a job well done. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

And a bonus. At least he knew this body was spry enough for a fight and he still remembered how to use it. It was certainly peppier than the one he _should_ have had was. A part of him missed all the familiar aches and pains it had developed over the years though. They were his. He’d fought for them. Bled for them. But they were gone, like his entire past had been erased. He hated this body even more at that thought, but he pushed the resentment aside as he unlocked the car and settled into the driver’s seat.

Now what?

He started the car, a particular urge making his fingers twitch on the shifter. No. Delores would be furious if he went and got her first instead of giving his siblings a fair shot. Vanya it was then. Out of them all, she was the only one who would accept his information for what it was. She’d believe him. She’d support him. She always had before. Plus, given what he’d seen so far, she might’ve also been the most well-adjusted of the lot too.

Shit.

He didn’t know her address. Leaving the car on, Five got back out and walked over to the phone booth on the corner. He flipped to the H section and found her name easy enough. Even recognized the street, though he couldn’t remember how to get there. He tore out the page then went back to the car. His next stop was a convenience store where he stole a city map, a banana, and a Fudge Nutter.

Unable to find parking right in front of Vanya’s building, Five ended up leaving the car a block away. He blinked through the building’s front door first and finished up the last few bites of his snack as he walked up the stairs. He glanced at the phonebook page to verify her apartment number, then jumped past her front door.

It was dark inside. Quiet. She wasn’t home yet.

He shoved the empty wrapper into his pocket as he surveyed the room. It was comfortable. Small, but not spartan like her childhood room had been. This space had pieces of her everywhere, and he resisted the urge to rifle through everything. She probably wouldn’t like that. Instead he walked over to the armchair by her bookshelf and sat down.

As he waited, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander while they adjusted to the darkness. There were some records on the wall. A stereo on the shelf. He couldn’t see the album covers and wondered what type of music she liked these days. He glanced over his shoulder towards the window. Her violin sat there, propped up and waiting to be touched. He’d never gotten to hear her master it. He wondered what it would sound like – what it would feel like – to hear her play at her best.

Looking past the violin towards the window, he frowned. No locks. Was she serious? He turned to look at the door and narrowed his eyes. At least _that_ had a deadbolt. Didn’t look engaged though. Had she _no_ instinct for self-preservation? He considered checking the rest of the apartment, but he heard a key slip into the lock, and then the door was swinging open with a rusty creak.

He reached up to turn on the nearby lamp so he wouldn’t startle her, but he managed to, nonetheless.

“Jesus!” She cried out, recoiling in surprise.

“You should have locks on your windows.” Five warned, wanting to make sure he mentioned it before they talked about something else and he forgot.

 _Honestly, Vanya_.

“I live on the second floor.” She countered, setting her keys down on the radiator which, for the record, was a fire hazard given all the mail sitting beneath it, but Five figured that might be a conversation for another day.

“Rapists can climb.” He argued, starting to wonder if his sister had a death wish.

“You are so weird.” She said, deflecting as she closed the door behind her.

He let the issue drop as she pulled off her coat, and he watched as she draped it across the back of the couch. Same as when they were alone in the salon, there was a frenetic energy fluttering in Five’s gut. It was altogether pleasant and uncomfortable, and he was in awe over the sensation. It had been a long time since he’d felt _nervous_ , and here Vanya was bringing it out twice in one day. He didn’t like that.

She sat on the couch and looked at him, looked ready to say something, but then her eyes caught somewhere below his face and she seemed to switch gears. She looked concerned.

“Is that blood?”

Shit. Probably. Stabbing people tended to have some splash back. He glanced down, trying to follow her line of sight, only to notice it was focused on his arm. Oh that. It was bleeding through his jacket.

“It’s nothing.” He told her. It would heal. He’d had much worse in his life and it wasn’t worth fussing over.

She looked unconvinced but didn’t argue.

“Why are you here?” She asked instead.

He sighed _. Right. Here we go._

“I’ve decided you’re the only one I can trust.” He answered honestly.

“Why me?”

A fair enough question. He could understand why she might assume herself to be bottom on the totem pole of trusted Hargreeves. As far as he was concerned, she was at the top, and for all the reasons she likely thought would knock her out of the running. Among all of them, she was the only one who wouldn’t, who _couldn’t_ compete against him, who wouldn’t try to assert herself in the stupid way his other siblings so often did. That made her special. So, he told her that.

“Because you’re ordinary.”

But by the way her face fell, Five knew it must have sounded worse out loud than it had in his head. He knew she’d always felt sensitive about being the only one without powers, but he’d hoped she had grown out of that. Seeing it was still a sore point, he amended his answer.

“Because you’ll listen.”

She seemed to take that a little better. Her features softened, but then her eyes jumped to his bloodied sleeve. Before he could say anything else, she stood and walked away from him, heading towards the back of her apartment. He watched her go and sighed, wondering if he’d read her wrong, hoping that he hadn’t. Five waited, trying to be patient as he listened to her rattle around in the back. When she reappeared, she was holding gauze and antiseptic.

Falling into an old routine he hadn’t realized he’d missed or grown accustomed to, Five pulled up his sleeve to reveal the wound that had bled through, the strip of cloth he’d tied around it soaked red. Vanya gave a sharp inhale at the sight and flinched, but she didn’t say anything and didn’t ask how he’d gotten it. She never did. It had never mattered to her. All she’d ever cared about when they were young was making sure he was okay afterwards.

His stomach clenched at her concern and his chest felt tight.

Five watched her face as she dabbed at his injury, her fingers gentle as they worked through the same scenario they had a dozen times before, an entire lifetime ago. A swell of affection flushed through him and his skin tingled wherever she touched, the sensation altogether foreign, familiar, and pleasant. She looked just as pretty in this dim lighting, so worried over him and only him, as she had when they were children and he was coming back from training or a mission with minor scrapes and bruises that Grace wasn’t bothered about. He wanted to tell her so, or reach out and touch her in return, but then he felt a flash of guilt. This wasn’t what Delores had meant when she said reconnect and he knew it.

He had more important things to do.

Besides, there wasn’t time to chew on the past or mull over what-ifs. Childhood crush or not, that ship had sailed. He was an old man. She had a full life ahead of her. But only if he could guarantee her the world. _That_ was what he needed to focus on. Tamping down the feelings she stirred, he swallowed and got straight to the point.

“When I jumped forward and got stuck in the future, do you know what I found?” He asked, the tightness in his torso hardening from warm to cold.

“No.” She answered, her voice quiet and her eyes steady on his injury.

“Nothing.” He said, his tongue remembering the acrid taste of ash with ease. “Absolutely nothing.”

He tried not to think of those first hours in the apocalypse that had so quickly become his new reality, but he couldn’t stop the memory from bulging up and bursting behind his eyelids. The heat. The fire. The rubble. The absolute silence hiding beyond the ruins burning and breaking all around him.

“As far as I could tell, I was the last person left alive.” His voice sounded distant to his ears behind the crackle of flames and the grating crumble of collapsing concrete. “I never figured out what killed the human race, but I did find something else. The date it happens.”

He remembered the newspaper dispenser being warm to the touch as he pulled it open. Couldn’t remember the publisher anymore, but he remembered the headline. A beautiful day, it had read. He laughed about that thirty years later with Delores after they’d had way too much wine. Murphy’s fucking law at its finest, he’d joked.

“The world ends in eight days, and I have no idea how to stop it.” He finished, Vanya staring at him in what he could only guess was shock, her mouth opened slightly and her breath a little faster.

That was a valid response.

She looked down then, and Five wondered what she was thinking. He wondered how she felt about the revelation. Did she have ideas? Questions? Thoughts? He said nothing else though, letting her digest the news, wanting her to react in her own time. That’s how she’d always worked, and this was a lot to take in. She met his stare again and he got ready for the questions.

“I’ll put on a pot of coffee.” She said instead, and all at once he felt a sudden, overpowering rush of love for her.

She’d always been his favorite for a reason.


	7. Episode 2 - Five's Apocalypse (POV Vanya)

Vanya kept her back to Five as she busied herself with making coffee. She could feel his eyes on her shoulders, and it was only because she’d had an extra pill not an hour earlier that she wasn’t more skittish. She’d almost forgotten he’d even been back as she’d taxied home, part of her convinced the entire ordeal at the mansion had been a fever dream of some kind, but then, there he was when she’d opened her door.

He’d been waiting for her.

She knew the idea should have warmed her. She knew it should have made her angry too. Instead she only had vague hints of both. He’d never cared much for boundaries when they were children, but things were different now. They were barely friends anymore, more strangers than not. But then he’d expressed wanting to trust her and she was a kid all over again, eager for any of them to want her company because it made her feel more substantial. She couldn’t help it even while aware of it, and she hated it, hated that she was desperate for the attention, even after all these years. It felt like all her efforts to separate herself from the harms of her toxic childhood were for nothing.

And then she’d seen he was bleeding and once more it was a time machine, taking her back to the days when she would help Grace down in the clinic, insisting on cleaning Five’s – on _everyone’s_ – minor cuts and scrapes after training, plastering little bandaids where she could. She’d wanted to be useful, to be part of what they did. Eventually she’d taken over that duty entirely for everyone but Luther and Allison. And minutes ago, she’d slipped straight into that same role without hesitation.

But then his words had drawn her to the present and nailed her there.

 _“I never figured out what killed the human race…”_ His words repeated in her head as she scooped grounds into the French press, the kettle on the stove beginning to whistle. _“The world ends in eight days…_ ”

She was the wrong person to be telling this to. If she knew nothing else, she knew at least that much. She would listen to him though; hear him out. She couldn’t bring herself to believe it yet, the notion of the world ending just too – too _much_ to accept, but she would listen anyway. Maybe he would convince her, though she wasn’t sure she wanted him to. This was not something _ordinary_ people were meant to worry about.

After pouring the water into the beaker so that the grounds could steep and setting an alarm, Vanya looked over her shoulder. Five was staring off into space, a distant look in his eye. She thought back to the conversation from the family kitchen. He’d said he was fifty-eight, but he looked exactly as he had the day he left. It was impossible to reconcile his words with what her eyes were showing her. She lifted a hand and look down, noticing the tremor. The anxiety hadn’t crept back yet, but she was sure it would soon. Glancing at the clock on her mantle, she decided she could wait. Her evening pill wasn’t too far away, and she didn’t want to get back into old habits.

With a sigh, she went and took a seat on the couch again, waiting for the coffee to finish. They sat in a companionable silence that felt familiar and safe. A lot like when they were young. She knew instinctively that he wouldn’t be ready to talk until he had a coffee in hand, and she knew, or at least she thought she knew, that he could feel confident that she wouldn’t expect anything before then either. Some minutes later the timer on her stove began to beep, and when she made to stand, he held a hand out to stop her.

“I got it.” He said, climbing to his feet. “Where are the mugs?”

“Um. Just hanging right there.” She pointed a finger towards the smatter of mismatched mugs hanging above her counter.

He walked to the kitchen and pulled one down, and after pressing the coffee, he filled the mug, the inviting aroma drifting through the room. It was pleasant. Reassuring. He took a sip and sighed.

“You want one?” He asked then, looking over his shoulder.

“No thanks.” She declined.

The last thing she needed on top of this nerve-wracking day was coffee to fuel it further.

He nodded, then put the pot back into its cradle. On his way back to the living room he fished something out of his pocket, a rumpled wad of cloth, then set it on her small dining table. When she frowned with curiosity, he gave a stiff smile.

“We’ll get to that.” He said before walking to the armchair and taking a seat again.

Neither spoke for another a stretch. Five took a sip, then folded both hands around the mug.

“You remember the day it happened?” He asked at last. “The day I left.”

She swallowed. Yes. She did remember. But she didn’t want to think about it.

She hated that day; had played the events over in her mind a thousand times wondering if there were anything she could have done differently to change the outcome. Her brain insisted she had failed him in some way, that had she done _one_ thing in some other manner, the entire day might have ended with him staying home. Still, she wouldn’t lie to him. Whatever it took to help him talk, she was willing to do.

So, she nodded, allowing that awful day to resurface.

“Yeah. Me too.” He agreed.

Vanya was sure they were both thinking back on it by the way he stared down into the coffee, as if it could provide better insight into why it had all happened. He’d been fuming all day back then. It had been—

“A Friday, right?” He asked, as if reading her thoughts.

“Tuesday.” She corrected. “Dad had been telling you ‘no’ the whole week before that. Through the weekend too, and then again that morning. You only got extra training that day because Allison was still getting over her laryngitis.”

“Shit. Forgot about that. Always thought it was Friday.” He murmured with a frown, taking another sip.

The entire week prior, Five had insisted to Dad that he was ready to travel through time, that he could handle it. Every day he’d been denied the opportunity, and then he’d had enough. He’d never been one to accept a ‘no’ without a fight, and the only person whose will was more steadfast than his own, was their father.

“I’m ready.” He had told her as they waited to be called down for supper. He’d jumped to her doorframe as she sat on the edge of her bed, listening for Mom’s bell. “I’m telling him that, and if the old bastard doesn’t listen, I’ll just do it anyway. Not like he can stop me. Right? What do you think?”

“Do you really think it’s a good idea?” She asked after considering the question.

He stepped into her room and sat down beside her, their shoulders bumping as they stared out into the hall together, the tips of their fingers touching. Vanya liked it when he sat close to her like this. She liked any contact with her siblings but didn’t get it often. Ben would hug her every so often, and when Klaus was smoking or drinking, he might spin her in an impromptu dance if the mood hit him, but it felt different with Five. Everything felt different with him. He made something in her stomach flip and flicker to life. Not many things seemed able to reach down and strike a chord that wasn’t related to sadness or anger or jealousy, but _he_ managed to tug new responses to life every time.

“Sure. I could bring you back something from the future. Something that doesn’t exist yet. Prove him and his stupid theories wrong. What does he know anyway? Not like _he_ can even do a spatial jump. He doesn’t understand anything. He’s just guessing. He has no idea what I’m capable of and it pisses me off. I can do _more._ ”

Vanya listened to his words and turned them over in her head. It took her a while to understand things most days. She heard people talk or read things to herself, but her brain seemed to filter everything through a thick cloud of miring fog. Often, she would have to think about things at length before they made sense. And so, she considered Five’s statements; laid them out and reviewed them with care. Nobody else had the patience for her, but he never rushed the process.

“I think that you should wait.” She said after a minute.

They’d had similar conversations over the last week, but she’d been hesitant to voice her disapproval until just then, when it so suddenly seemed an imminent affair. Before it had been theoretical, but today felt different. There was an intensity to him.

“What? _Why_?” He looked at her, confusion curled between his brows.

She hated disagreeing with him; hated her reason why, even more.

“Because what if Dad’s right? He’s right about a lot of things.”

“Not _everything_.” He insisted, and then his jaw clenched.

She recognized that look. He’d made his mind up, and no amount of arguing would change it. She tried anyway.

“It could be too dangerous.”

“I’m doing it.” He confirmed her fear, narrowing his eyes in a challenge, but she didn’t say anything more.

They were close enough that she could see the intricate detail in his eyes, see the darker flecks within them. She wanted to tell him she was worried for him, wanted to reach up and brush his bangs out of his face. This wasn’t the first time she’d had the arrant thought to do that, but she had yet to be so brazen. Instead she did nothing, merely stared back at him, willing him to please listen to her, to please not do anything rash. She hated to see any of them get in trouble. Him most of all. And he always had such a knack for it.

But Five had been true to his word.

After his display at the table, and after ignoring her final, silent plea that he not go through with it, he had left the house, had left her life for what amounted to forever in the eyes of a teenage girl.

“I did my first jump in time before I even left our block.” Five spoke after their long silence, drawing Vanya out of the past.

She found him concentrating on his coffee.

“Just some months into the future.” He said. “I think. It was summer, I know that much. Was so excited by the success I had to do it again. Jumped straight into winter next. Might have been less than a year from the day I left; might’ve been ten. I was…” he paused. “I was so damn _happy_. I’d won. _Stuck it to the man_ ,” he added the last bit with a mocking twist to his tone and lips.

Vanya understood that regret.

“I was stupid.” He went on. “Wasn’t paying attention to the calculations. Then I jumped again. For the last time.”

He sighed and took another sip.

“Next one took me to an apocalypse, _the_ apocalypse. It was…” An agonized expression flashed across his features. “Something catastrophic had happened. Everything was destroyed. Trees. Cars. Buildings. All of it. Everything was on fire. If it wasn’t burning or shattered, it was dead. Everyone, _everything_. Just gone. I ran back home, but the whole building was in ruins. The whole block was. There wasn’t a damn thing left. I was on my own after that. For a long time.”

His eyes rose, but when he found her staring, he dropped them. She couldn’t think of anything to say, and she didn’t want to interrupt him, so she let his pause expand and contract. He took a deep breath and continued.

“I left the city as soon as I… As soon as I could. Too many dead,” he hesitated before settling on the word, “things. Walked for days. Weeks. Months. But everywhere I went it was the same. Whatever happened, it wasn’t just localized. The entire _sky_ was blotted out, V. For years.”

Vanya thought she saw a tremor pass through him. She wanted to pull him into a hug, but he looked tense and distant, ready to spring out of the chair and out of the apartment without a moment’s notice. The idea of him disappearing in a flash of blue injected her with a pulse of panic.

“You’d be surprised how fast most food goes bad too.” He said, shifting topics. “Took what I could from stores and houses, but nothing outside a tin lasted too long. Couldn’t nuke anything in a microwave without electricity. So I did what I could after that. I survived on scraps. Canned food, cockroaches, anything I could find.”

He chuckled then, but the sound was strained.

“You know that rumor that Twinkies have an endless shelf life?”

She nodded.

“Well it’s total bullshit.”

“I can’t even imagine.” She said, finding her voice.

Conceiving of the end, of the picture he painted; it was beyond her scope of imagination. She could barely imagine what her tomorrow would be like, let alone eight days or an entire apocalypse from now. It was genuinely inconceivable, and she couldn’t accept it as the truth. She didn’t _want_ to believe it. The entire world ending was too big, too much, too surreal, too _insane_. She believed that _he_ believed it had happened, but the notion of everything being destroyed was so monumental that he might as well have told her he’d played chess with God while he was at it. And won.

“You do whatever it takes to survive, or you die.” He continued, unaware of the crises happening less than a foot away. “So we adapted.”

We.

Vanya grasped at the word. She rolled it in her head a few times and wondered if he was talking about Delores, the woman he’d mentioned in the kitchen. He’d said that everyone had died, but clearly that wasn’t the case. Right? The inconsistency gave her hope. Somebody had been with him, wherever he had gone. But who was she? A delusion? A friend? Somebody who could tell them what had really happened?

“Whatever the world threw at us,” he went on, unprompted, “we found a way to overcome it.”

“We?” She probed, hoping he might tell her more about the mystery girl or woman.

His eyebrows pinched together like he realized he’d said too much.

“You got anything stronger?” He asked instead of answering her, holding the mug up and sidestepping the question.

She wouldn’t push it. If he had experienced hallucinations this extreme, then this was a delicate issue, one she wasn’t equipped to deal with. So Vanya nodded, then went to the kitchen.

It felt wrong to give him alcohol, but she could remember when he’d snuck some into their rooms when they were twelve, and she felt obligated to reciprocate. If he thought that everything he said was true then he could certainly use the drink, and he would believe that he was more than old enough, at least mentally, to handle the consequences. If he really was only thirteen though and had jumped here straight from their childhood, then she was only contributing to the delinquency of her little brother, and he was safe in her apartment where she could keep an eye on him.

She poured a few fingers of rum into a glass, then turned to walk it back to the living room, only to find him standing right behind her. She jolted in surprise, let out a breath, then handed the glass over with a wary eye. Five accepted it and took a drink, and she watched his face to see if he would cough at the burn. He didn’t. Either he was a seasoned drinker, or he could pretend incredibly well. She couldn’t determine which.

“You think I’m crazy.” He said abruptly, noticing the way she was observing him.

“No! That’s – it’s just – it’s a lot to take in.” She stammered the words out, his accusation catching her off guard.

“Exactly what don’t you understand?” He demanded, whatever calm tact he’d maintained with her before eroding at an alarming rate.

She didn’t like his tone, didn’t like the way it made her stomach roil, didn’t like the fact that he’d managed to read her so easily or the fact that she couldn’t bring herself to believe him. Part of her wanted to, it did, but she _couldn’t_. There was nothing going on anywhere in the world that even hinted at a soon-to-come disaster, and the idea of everything dying and getting destroyed was too egregious. Her brain refused. Her heart wouldn’t have it. It was easier and kinder to believe that he was wrong – not crazy – just… sick.

“Why didn’t you just travel back?” She asked defensively, trying to find a hole in his story that could help justify her lack of faith and the substantial guilt it was building.

He scoffed, his features turning sharp and cruel in the same way they did when he was arguing with Luther or Diego or Dad. She hated it, hated being on the other end of it, but it was easier than accepting that they all might die in a week.

“Gee, wish I’d thought of that.” He answered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Time travel is a crapshoot. I went into the ice and never acorn-ed. You think I didn’t try everything to get back to my family?”

“If you grew old there, you know, in the apocalypse,” she couldn’t stop herself from trying to talk him out of his version of events. “How come you still look like a kid?”

She _needed_ him to be wrong.

He shook his head and pushed past her to the kitchen.

“I _told_ you already.” He let out an exasperated sigh, picking up the bottle of rum. “I must have got the _equations_ wrong.”

“I mean, Dad always used to say that,” she hesitated as he poured more liquor into his glass, knowing he would despise hearing the next words, “time travel could mess up your mind. Well, maybe that’s what’s happening?”

She watched him take a healthy swallow before the glass dropped to the counter with a clunk.

“This was a mistake.” He turned around and walked to the table to grab the bundle of cloth he’d set there. “You’re too young – too _naïve_ to understand.”

He was heading for the door then, and a wave of panic flooded through Vanya. He was leaving again! No, no—

“No! Five! Five, _wait_.” She called, petrified and helpless to stop him for a second time.

She was thirteen all over again, watching him run from her life and she couldn’t bear to see it play out a second time. He turned, by some miracle, and she rushed to say more.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time,” she confessed, “and I don’t want to lose you again.” When his face softened a little, she added, “that’s all.”

It was the truth. Not the entire truth, but it was truth enough. She didn’t believe him despite wanting to, but she also didn’t want him to leave, not after she’d gotten him back after all this time. He stayed by the door, looking indecisive, so Vanya continued.

“And you know what? It’s getting late, and I have lessons early.” They were excuses – she wasn’t even sure if she had lessons; she probably did – but she knew that talking any more tonight wouldn’t accomplish anything except make things worse. “And I need to sleep, and I’m sure you do too.”

She walked over to the couch, eager to show him that he was more than welcome to stay. That he _should_ stay. Maybe in the morning she could believe him, or maybe he wouldn’t see through her so easily after she was rested. The day had been too long, and with everything that had happened she’d lost her entire sense of equilibrium.

“Here.” She moved some pillows, clearing him a space, and pulled a blanket from the back of the couch. When she looked up to see him move away from the door she was encouraged. “We’ll talk in the morning again. Okay? I promise.”

And before he could argue with her, before she could say something to make it all worse, Vanya headed for her bedroom.

“Night.” She said, passing him.

“Night.” He answered back, his tone gentle once more.

When the bedroom door closed between them, Vanya slouched against it, her heart drumming fast with fear. She almost lost him again. Why couldn’t she _believe_ him? She always used to when they were children. But she wasn’t a child anymore. She knew that, and no matter what he said, he still _looked_ like one. It was so much easier to believe his story a flight of fancy or some sort of time traveling madness than to willingly accept that their world and everything in it would be obliterated in a matter of days. How? Why? Could they even stop it? The questions were too big to bear on top of the emotional riptide the family reunion and his sudden return had wrought.

Going to her nightstand, Vanya grabbed out the pill bottle she kept there and swallowed down her evening dosage. She didn’t often wish for the dreamless escape it provided, but at that instant, she needed it.


	8. Episode 2 - Angry Eye (POV Five)

#### March 24th & 25th, 2019

To Five’s credit, for a few seconds he _did_ consider staying the night in spite of his jagged annoyance with the one person he’d bet on being able to trust implicitly. But she didn’t believe him. He’d made a bad bet. She thought he was batshit. That, paired with the fact that his previous impression of her constant loyalty had been shattered, was leaving him a little tense. He was angry. Disappointed. Taunted by the old man’s warnings yet again, and _that_ chapped more than the rest. She was supposed to believe _him_ , not take Dad’s side. It was the one thing he’d come here for, and he hadn’t gotten it.

That hurt more than he wanted to admit.

He’d have to do this without her, without any of them. He was on his own. Again.

Fine. That was fine. He didn’t need them anyway.

Five unwrapped the glass eye and looked down at it. There was no helping it, but he could do this. He had to. He let out a breath and steeled his resolve as he rolled it over to look at the back stamp. MeriTech. It was as good a starting place as any.

Standing, he headed for the door and opened it, watching the bedroom to make sure Vanya wouldn’t rush out to try and stop him. She might succeed. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to argue with her further though, and he didn’t want to face whatever guilt she’d try to throw his way. She’d made her choice. He was making his. If she wouldn’t stand by his side to stop this thing then she’d have to get in the backseat with the rest of the children.

His first stop was another phonebooth. He looked up Meritech in the yellow pages then tore out their section. Using the map on the passenger seat he drove by the address, noting that it wasn’t all that far from the mansion. Not a comfortable walking distance though, and it would take too much energy to jump it. He’d either have to take Dad’s car again or acquire another one. They were closed at this hour either way, so that would be a call for the morning. In the meantime…

His eyes dropped to his bloodied sleeve. He would need to change clothes. People asked too many stupid questions when they saw blood, and he didn’t have time for any more of those. Staring at the road and letting his mind go blank, Five returned to his childhood home, too frustrated and tired to consider all the day’s disappointments.

He parked the car in the alley and collected his map and phonebook pages before jumping into the family kitchen. It was dark and silent, but there were people awake in the house. He could hear footsteps upstairs. Not in a mood for conversation, Five shoved his hands into his pockets and walked to his room, ready to jump should he cross paths with anyone. As he stepped onto the landing where most of his sibling’s bedrooms sat, he leaned over and looked down the hall. Luther’s and Allison’s doors were closed. Diego’s and Klaus’ sat open. Vanya’s door was closed. He glared at it, a flare of anger rising.

Shaking his head, he continued up the stairs to his own room.

After clearing out his pockets onto the dresser, Five shrugged off his bloody jacket and let it fall to the floor as he eyed the space, feeling out of place as he stood amidst his adolescent playthings. He stripped down to an undershirt and boxers, then kicked the clothes towards the door for Grace to find in the morning. His skin prickled from the chill in the house, but he’d been far colder before. It didn’t bother him.

He sat on the edge of his bed and sighed.

He was so damn tired.

The day had finally caught up with him. When he’d woke that morning, he had been a fifty-eight-year-old assassin. He’d gotten up. Showered. Had a few cups of coffee and a bagel. Clocked in at the Commission. Was given a tommy gun and tasked to recreate a drive-by that George Clarence Moran had grown a change of heart about. Executed the job. Returned to the Commission. Got assigned the Kennedy assassination. Had a eureka moment as he’d stared through the sight of his rifle. Had decided in the span of only a few seconds that he would quit immediately, go home, and finally stop the apocalypse that had monopolized so much of his life. He’d reunited with his family. Found them just as broken as Vanya had promised. Avoided being taken in by his former employers, and then been let down by the only voice he’d had to his family in decades.

Five fell backwards onto his mattress and stared up. He examined the overhead light, then traced the lines of his ceiling, willing his body to sleep. He needed a few hours at least. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the sound of his breathing. A gust of wind brushed against the house, and the smell of smoke and decay swept past, warm on his cheek. His jaw clenched, and he rolled over onto his side, pulling his legs up until he was curled into a fetal position.

He tried not to let his thoughts wander. Tried not to remember the long nights of absolute silence and darkness, the sky too singed for the moon or starlight to break through. The muscles in his neck and back tensed. He tried not to think about the voices he could hear whispering from the mountains of rubble, the shadows so absolute he was sure they had weight. He tried not to think about he’d calculate their mass to keep from considering the words he shouldn’t be hearing.

He let the memory of Delores bleed through instead. The first night she kept watched for him was the first night he’d truly been able to sleep for more than a half-hour at a time. He’d laid down with her at his back, her arm draped across his as she kept both eyes open for them. Thinking of her helped his muscles unwind. He’d thanked her the next morning, genuinely grateful, already a little in love with her for the peace she’d brought him. They’d left the city together not long after…

Five sank into the memory, the ghost of pressure her arm provided enough to carry him to sleep.

He burst awake sometime later, the sound of something crashing downstairs melting together with the landslide of bricks that had almost crushed him while sleeping once. He scrambled off the bed, out of the way of rolling stone and stinging pebbles, falling to the floor with a thud and a grunt. He leapt to his feet, panting, eying the room wildly as he tried to figure out where he was. His eyes caught on a poster hanging from the wall.

His room? He was in his room. But how? Why? He looked down, still confused. He didn’t look right. Something was off. He didn’t _feel_ right.

Five bolted from his room and made for the stairs. He needed a mirror. Needed to see. He fumbled down the flight and stumbled at the landing, lurching his way around the corner and down the corridor to the bathroom. He flung himself inside and shut the door, then dashed to the sink. He clutched the cold porcelain and stared into the mirror, unable to recognize the face staring back in the dim light that poured in from outside.

The eyes were wide. The skin sallow and sweat soaked. The boy in the mirror breathed heavy, same as him, and when he glared, the boy glared right back. It was him, he realized. And everything rushed back. It was 2019. He’d fucked the equation and was here to stop the apocalypse.

“Shit.” He breathed out, looking down into the drain. He turned the faucet on, then looked up at his reflection one more time. “Fuck.”

Five rinsed his face, swallowed a couple handfuls of water, then shut the faucet back off and stood straight. His breathing had slowed again, the nightmarish memory of almost getting crushed fading into the dark corner of his mind where he kept most things. As he left the bathroom and walked back upstairs, he wondered how much sleep he had gotten. Not nearly enough he wagered, but he wasn’t going to try again.

Instead, he pulled out a fresh uniform, dressed, then ran a hand through his hair a few times to straighten it. He grabbed the eye and napkin from the dresser, tucked them back into his pocket, then opened his top drawer and lifted up the stack of clean socks. He chuckled. The fifty-five dollars he’d stashed forty-some-odd years ago was still there. After pocketing that too, he strode downstairs.

In the foyer, he started to turn straight for the kitchen when a snort from the salon broke the silence. He walked over to one of the archways and looked inside. Klaus was sleeping on a couch, sprawled comfortably, mostly naked except for a pair of colorful underwear. Five shook his head at the sight, then turned and made for the family kitchen before jumping out to the alley, and out to Dad’s car again.

The dashboard clock said it was only three. Too early for anything meaningful, so Five drove aimlessly until he came across a diner that wasn’t shot to hell. He parked, went in, chose a corner booth, then ordered a cup of coffee and leaned back. He had a clear sight of the front door. That made him feel better.

After the waitress poured him a fresh cup and walked away once he declined to order anything more, Five pulled the eye out and unwrapped it. It stared up at him, and he stared back. They had an intimate relationship at this point, him and that eye. Countless hours of staring contests he could never hope to win. Not for the first time, he let his imagination wander, trying to conceive what the eye might have seen in those last few hours before it had been plucked right out. He wondered if Luther had been surprised to discover it wasn’t real after wrenching it loose. Death must have come immediately after that. Fast enough that his brother hadn’t even dropped his hold on the eye.

But what could have killed Number One that fast?

“You want a refill little man?” The waitress asked when she returned sometime later.

He bristled at her choice of words.

“Yeah. Be a dear and keep ‘em coming, would ya’?” He answered back, unable to clear the scorn from his tone.

It was petty, he knew, but he relished the indignity on her face and smiled before she could walk away.

Five spent the next hours circling doomsday scenarios, the same scenarios he’d considered a thousand times before, but they felt fresh now that he was so close to the epoch. He _would_ put a stop to it. He lost track of how many cups he drank after that, and he dozed off more than a few times. After the fourth, he was sure the waitress had given up on shaking him awake since he’d almost stabbed her the last time when he’d burst out of a brief nightmare.

He jerked up to blinding sunshine when a rag slapped down onto the table and a spray of mildew scented disinfectant sprinkled his cheek. Five’s eyes darted up to a white-haired woman who didn’t have a face for patience. Must have been a shift change. He reached up and wiped his sleeve across his mouth, a string of drool growing cold.

“What?” He asked her, snatching the eyeball off the table to wrap it up again.

“If you don’t get your ass to school young man, I’ll be calling you in on truancy.”

“Truancy?” He scoffed, ready to say more until he noticed how bright the light outside was. “Shit. What time is it?”

“Quarter to ten and—”

“Keep the change.” Five slapped some cash down onto the table then scrambled out of the booth and hurried to the car.

MeriTech would be open.

After parking, finding the floor for prosthetic eyes, and then talking to the receptionist about who he’d need to speak with, Five stood in the lobby of floor twelve, the guilty eye held loose in one hand, the other buried in his pocket. The room was too bright. Too white, too clean, too sterile. He didn’t like it.

He paced, the coffee, lack of sleep, and anticipation of being _this_ close to solving everything leaving him with an excess of energy. His eyes wandered the room. Two faceless mannequins stood at either end of the receptionist’s desk. Their highlighted body parts advertised the limbs that MeriTech boasted replacements for. Arms. Hands. Legs. Eyes. At least they had a diverse portfolio. He turned to the elevators, the sun irritating his eyes. He was getting a headache.

“Uh. Can I help you?” A voice called out from behind.

Took long enough.

Five turned away from the elevator to find a brown-haired man in a lab coat heading his way. He wasn’t tall, wasn’t muscular. He’d be easy to take down in a fight. Approaching, Five hefted the eye up so that it was looking at the guy as they met in the middle of the room.

“I need to know who this belongs to.” He said, lowering it once he was within arm’s reach.

“Where did you get that?”

This guy. What the hell kind of question was that?

“What do you care?” Five posited.

The man looked put off by his aggressiveness. Fine. Tact. He could do that. Five dialed it back, remembering again that he didn’t exactly have a look of authority anymore. He smoothed his features. He could play along.

“I…” he hesitated, trying to think of where children might find things. “I found it. At a playground, actually. Must have just – ” he clocked his tongue. “Popped out.”

And then he smiled, imagining the little scenario in his head. LabCoat seemed to relax a little at the explanation, smiling as well, so Five went on.

“I wanna return it to its rightful owner.”

“Aww.” The receptionist to their right cooed. “What a thoughtful young man.”

Five gave her a smarmy grin.

“Yeah. Look up the name for me, will ya’?” He asked, smothering the urge to be surlier.

If he had to hear somebody call him young man one more damn time…

“Uh, I’m sorry.” LabCoat answered instead. “But patient records are strictly confidential. That means I can’t tell you—”

“Yeah I know what it means!” Five snapped as a surge of fury ballooned inside him.

He was so fucking close to the answer and this asshole was blocking his way!

“But I’ll tell you what I _can_ do.” The man said. “I will take the eye off your hands and return it to the owner. I’m sure he, or she, will be very grateful, so if I can just – ” He made a grab for the eye.

The hell he would!

“Yeah, you’re not touching this eye.” Five growled, glaring up at him, the limits of his patience reached.

LabCoat had the nerve to look insulted.

“Now, you listen here young man—”

But that’s as far as he got. Five grabbed LabCoat by the collar and hauled him down to eyelevel, livid at the gall of him, and even more pissed that yet again, he lost all rights of authority because of this puerile body he was trapped in.

“No! _You_ listen to _me_ asshole.” Five snarled, bringing the man’s face right into his own. “I’ve come a long way for this, through some shit your pea brain couldn’t even comprehend, so just give me the _information_ I need, and I’ll be on my merry way.”

LabCoat looked ready to respond, but Five wasn’t finished with his tirade, the insults to his personhood bubbling up at last and boiling over because for fucks sake he wasn’t a fucking kid!

“And if you call me ‘young man’ one more time,” he warned, his voice quivering with murderous, overly caffeinated rage. “I’m gonna put your head through that damn wall.”

“Oh dear.” The receptionist squeaked, off to the side and watching them.

“Call security.” LabCoat told her, and as she picked up the phone Five’s lip curled.

He shoved the asshole away and let go, then turned and headed for the elevators. What he _really_ wanted to do was murder them both and take what he wanted, but fine. He’d figure out another way. He had seven days, right? There was time.

After he climbed back into the driver’s seat of Dad’s car and garnered a hard stare from a woman walking by, Five knew what he needed. Somebody who _looked_ like an adult. The knowledge made his face burn, made him want to punch something, but when he started the car, he headed back towards the house anyway.

When he jumped into the kitchen it was to relative peace. Nobody was in the room, but he could hear the thud of distant footfalls. He crossed his arms. Which sibling to approach was the real question. Luther would be too… _himself_. Too many questions. Too much theorizing. Plus, he’d never be a shit-stirrer and Five wasn’t sure it wouldn’t come to that. Diego would be _too_ rash. He was too hot-headed and would try take charge. Allison would be too level-headed, and he was pretty sure she believed he’d jumped to their time straight from dinner forty-some-odd, seventeen, however many years ago. The idea of her suggesting it pissed him off too much to even consider her. Ben was dead. Vanya had been a bust. That left only one person.

Five walked to the second floor and found Klaus in his bedroom. He paused at the door, startled by the size and the changes that had taken place. It was bigger, but how – only it was obvious a millisecond later. The wall between his and Vanya’s room had been knocked down. Vanya _had_ no room anymore. Five frowned. When had that happened? Why?

He noticed Klaus when his brother moved, and he remembered that it didn’t matter. Not today anyway. He had to focus. Klaus had a cigarette hanging from his lips and a dress held up to his front as he swayed in front of a window, staring outside at something and mumbling song lyrics under his breath.

“I need your help.” Five said, getting it out of the way and drawing his brother’s attention.

Klaus swirled around, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Moi?” He asked, pressing a hand to his chest like he’d just been asked to the damn prom.

“Yeah, you. There’s a company I’m trying to get information from, but they won’t talk to _me._ I need somebody who looks less like...” He motioned at his underdeveloped body. “And who won’t ask questions. A father figure; uncle or something.”

“Mon petit frère! I am _so_ touched.” Klaus went on with a grin, waving his other hand at his face to fan off invisible tears before a serious expression fell into place not a heartbeat later and that hand continued elsewhere to emphasize his words. “But what’s in it for me?”

“Twenty bucks.” Five answered, his jaw clenching at the comment to his size.

He’d had more than enough of that today.

“Deal!” Klaus said, clapping his hands together and letting the dress fall to the floor.

“Good. Put on something professional. I’ll be in my room. Come up when you’re ready.”

Five jumped upstairs and resorted to pacing while he waited, his impatience, annoyance, and over-abundance of caffeine supplying nervous energy in spades. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. His brother’s footsteps approached, and a few seconds later Klaus curled himself around the corner and leaned against the doorframe. His eyes had barely taken in the frilly blouse when a familiar voice rang out from downstairs.

“Five?” It was Vanya.

“Shit.”

Five stepped forward and grabbed Klaus by the arm, dragging him further into the bedroom. His brother stumbled after, off balance.

“What are you—?”

“Get in the closet. Now.” He interrupted, pointing to the tall piece of furniture by the door.

“What? No way man, I’m not—”

“This isn’t a debate!” Five snarled, pushing his brother towards the armoire before wrenching a door open and shoving at his shoulder.

“Oh I get it.” Klaus teased, flashing a grin down at him. “You don’t want little Vanny knowing that you’re switching teams, eh?”

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Inside.” Five barked, unamused by the playful leer.

“Fine, fine.” Klaus agreed, raising his hands defensively before climbing inside and singing, “but you owe me.”

Five shut the door on his face and hurried away towards the window, the sound of Vanya’s encroaching footsteps tapping up the hall. He tucked his hands into his pockets and relaxed his posture just as she reached the doorway.

“Oh thank god.” She breathed out, and Five glanced her way before shifting his eyes back out the window.

That… was not the reaction he’d been expecting.

“I was worried sick about you.” She went on, and he turned at the words, his frustration at MeriTech and Klaus melting a little when he saw the concern in her face.

“Sorry I left without saying goodbye.” His tone was softer than even he expected it to be after the morning he’d had.

“No. Look, I’m the one that should be sorry.” She started, and Five walked closer to her, drawn by the earnest care. “Yeah I was dismissive, and I – I guess I didn’t know how to process what you were saying. And I still can’t, to be honest.”

He was grateful that she was being truthful at last. Her attempts to imply he’d been crazy last night without actually saying as much had been obvious and infuriating. At least she was fessing up. He appreciated that. But it was too late. She’d proven incapable of handling the truth of the situation, so it was better to play into her initial assumption.

“Maybe you were right to be dismissive.” He told her before turning away so he wouldn’t have to lie to her face, going to his dresser instead to finger a childish toy he’d left behind. “Maybe it wasn’t real after all. It felt real. Well.” He paused, then faced her, no longer in blatant lie territory. “Like you said, the old man did say time travel could contaminate the mind.”

He smiled, but it felt more like a grimace. He didn’t _want_ to lie to her, but it was easier than trying to convince her of a truth she didn’t want.

“Then maybe I’m not the right person for you to be talking to.” She said gently, searching his eyes for something he couldn’t name. “Look, I used to see someone. A therapist. I could give you her information.”

This was going too far for his liking. He didn’t want the lie to snowball.

“Thanks, but…” He glanced to his bed. “I think I’m just gonna get some rest. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good sleep.”

Not a _total_ lie.

“Okay.” Vanya sighed, but seemed reassured, her expression relaxed where it had been tensed before.

She turned and walked out then, almost rushed, as if she’d somehow felt he wanted her gone. Part of him didn’t, but a larger part of him did. He hoped it wasn’t that obvious, but he had shit to do. Important shit. He’d worry about her feelings later. She’d accept an apology for him lying after he saved her life.

He followed in her wake to make sure she was down the stairs before he would give the all-clear signal to his brother, but Klaus couldn’t seem bothered to wait a second longer. The closet doors opened before Five even made it to the doorway. An old baseball clattered to the floor as a bat fell sideways inside the armoire, his brother unfurling from the wardrobe with a dramatic sigh.

“That’s so…” he stepped out of the closet with a loud crunch as he stepped on something, putting his hand to his chest as his face contorted into an expression of fake affection. “ _Touching_.”

Klaus tripped as he moved away from the closet, but that didn’t stop his mouth.

“All that stuff about family and Dad and time. _Wow_!”

“Would you shut up?” Five hissed at him. “She’ll hear you!”

“I’m moist.” Klaus fanned at fake tears again and that’s when Five got a good look at the outfit his brother had cobbled together.

“I thought I told you to put on something professional.”

Klaus looked hurt.

“What? This is my nicest outfit.”

Five rolled his eyes, sighed, and shook his head. He was regretting his half-assed plan already.

“We’ll raid the old man’s closet.” He said, leaving the room.

“Whatever.” Klaus said, following. “As long as I get paid.”

“When the job is done.” Five reminded him, emphasizing the last word.

“Okay, but just so we’re clear on the finer details,” Klaus’ footsteps stopped, and Five let out another sigh as he turned to face his brother. “I just gotta go into this place and pretend to be your dear old dad, correct?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” This was such a bad idea.

“What’s our cover story?” Klaus asked with a little too much enthusiasm.

_Cover story?_

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I mean, was I really young when I had you? Like, 16? Like, young and terribly misguided?”

“Sure.” Anything to end this conversation. And admittedly a cover story wasn’t the _worst_ idea.

“Your mother, that _slut_. Whoever she was. We met at.” He paused in thought, then chuckled. “The disco. Okay? Remember that.”

Five gave a slight nod. It was stupid, but sure, in a pinch, if they were asked, it would be better than improv. Klaus snapped his fingers then, going on.

“Oh my god, the sex was _amaaaaaaazing._ ”

Nope. That was enough of that.

“What a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain.” Five commented as he headed for the stairs.

“Don’t make me put you in time-out!” Klaus teased, right on his heels.

They didn’t spend long in their father’s bedroom. Even with him dead, Five couldn’t shake the notion that they’d be caught any minute and punished. Funny how that feeling still lingered, even after all these years. As he flipped through Dad’s collection of hangers, he could hear Klaus moving things around behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched his brother slip a small trinket into his pocket. He smirked, then turned back to the task at hand. If Klaus wanted to hawk the old man’s shit, more power to him. Wasn’t his problem.


	9. Episode 2 - Meeting Leonard (POV Vanya)

Vanya repeated Allison’s words over and over in her head on the taxi ride home. Her hand was fisted inside her pocket, empty and longing for the bottle she’d left on her kitchen counter. She’d forgotten her morning dose too, and the anxiety was back in full force. She chewed at the inside of her cheek as she stared out the window.

_“You know if I wanted advice, Vanya, no offense, it wouldn’t be from you…”_

Anger and embarrassment warred inside her belly. She’d only tried to be nice, but as usual it wasn’t good enough. She could _never_ be good enough for her sister; for any of them. Ordinary, disappointing, stupid Vanya. That was her. Five wanted her gone too. She hadn’t seen him in almost twenty years, and yet she could sense his impatience in the bedroom when she’d offered him her therapist’s name. He didn’t want her advice.

 _“You’ve never even been in a relationship…_ ”

That _wasn’t_ true.

Vanya glared at the passing buildings. What did Allison even know? It wasn’t like she’d ever bothered to _ask_ her about a single moment of her life. Of course she would assume that. At the boarding school in Paris though, there’d been Bernadette. Her first kiss with another girl. The calm silence of the music room after class… her gentle hands… She’d been beautiful and dark-haired, tall and athletic, everything that she herself wasn’t. That hadn’t even mattered though. Outside the Academy, Vanya wasn’t the only _ordinary_ person, and she’d had her violin to help her stand out. Bernadette loved to listen her, loved to tell her how talented she was, loved to imagine them leading an orchestra someday. Five might have been the first to believe she could achieve something great with music, but Bee had supported her with more than just words.

Then there’d been Julien, but even the thought of his name made her cringe, made her shoulders fold in on themselves at the memory. He’d wanted her in dresses and makeup and heels. He wanted her to smile more, to put on a cheery front. He’d been there to pick up the pieces after Bernadette had left her for being ‘too closed off’, and he’d held those pieces so carefully at first. But she’d never figured out how to tell him no, even when she had desperately wanted to. And then, like Bee, he’d gotten bored with her and left.

Then in college there’d been others, but by then Vanya had long been burying herself beneath the pills with far greater frequency, and often alongside alcohol. She’d lived in a dim haze, barely focused on school and her music because they’d both been so hard to concentrate on through the fog. She could remember the names of her partners, but the details of their brief relationships were a blur. She hadn’t craved anything beyond their touch, their fleeting approval and desire. Had it been Andrew or Kevin that liked to smack her ass even though she’d hated it? She had never said no though, too desperate for whatever they were willing to give her. Had it been Natalie that had pressed a kiss to her wrist in the night and called her beautiful, or one of the other girls she’d had a one-night stand with.

Vanya knew she should have felt bad for how easily she let people in and then shut them out, but she was hungry for the contact, for their affirmations. She was desperate to believe them but never did, how could she? But they were nice to hear anyway and helped her to forget, even if for only a few minutes at a time, that she was the unloved one, the plain one, the ordinary piece of shit that would never amount to anything for anybody. Her eyes burned, and she wished the taxi would drive faster so she could take the pill she’d skipped on her rush out the house.

And for what? For the boy she’d missed all these years but who hadn’t missed her back.

_“You know what it’s like to love someone like this…?”_

Vanya swallowed the unpleasant lump in her throat. No. No she didn’t know what that was like because…

Because…

_“You separate yourself from everyone and everything. You always have…”_

“Because Dad _made_ me.” She answered Allison beneath her breath one more time, staring out the window.

She could taste blood in her mouth.

_“Did Dad make you write that book about us too…?”_

No. No, he hadn’t done _that._ That had been _all_ her.

No matter what she told herself most days, Vanya knew the truth deep down. That had been the twisted and malformed part of her rearing up to tear them down for the misery they’d brought her. The ugly hatred had come to life after her therapist had brought down her dosage and tapered her off the excess ‘as-needed’ pills she’d been taking. The thick fog around her heart and head had lifted, and she’d needed to expel the bile discovered there before it could poison her completely.

_“You’re an adult now, Vanya. You don’t get to blame your problems on anyone but yourself.”_

_Don’t worry, Allison_ , she thought indignantly, _that’s all I have anyway_. _Myself._

By then the taxi had stopped in front of her apartment, and with the copper tang of blood at the back of her throat, she quietly thanked the driver, paid him, then went inside.

She wasted no time in medicating, taking the hour afterwards to have some tea and light a fire. Once it had kicked in, once her thoughts had calmed and her body numbed, she picked up her violin to practice. Vanya sank into the music, hearing it, critiquing the sound, but not awash in its beauty. She played by memory and habit, wondering, not for the first time, what all her old teachers had meant when they said she needed to _feel_ it inside of her. She couldn’t feel anything as she played other than the vibrations of her instrument through her fingers. Staring at her bow, she focused on the structure of sound and the way she moved it.

Three loud knocks on the door broke her focus, and the bow stuttered before she could pull it away. She wasn’t expecting anyone, so that could only mean one thing.

“He’s not here, Mrs. Kowalski.” She called out, bringing her violin back up only for the knocking to continue.

Vanya set her instrument down into the chair then walked to the door, pulling it open as she spoke.

“Mr. Puddles isn’t here,” she said, opening the door to reveal—

Oh. Uh. _Not_ Mrs. Kowalski. It was a man, handsome, not too much taller than herself.

“Can I help you?” She asked, confused by his appearance on her doorstep.

“I’m Leonard.” He answered with a smile, as if that solved everything. When she shook her head, still puzzled, he went on. “I’m your four o’clock.”

“Oh, my…?”

Oh _no_. She’d forgotten all about scheduling the appointment! The call had come as she’d rushed to get ready that morning, and she’d agreed to it without thinking in her hurry to get off the phone.

“I forgot. I am _so_ sorry.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with Mr. Puddles.” He joked with a tentative smile.

“Oh. No…” She whispered, remembering how she’d opened the door. “Sorry. It’s uh, my neighbor, Mrs. Kowalski. She, well she has this cat that always goes missing. She thinks I know where it is. I don’t. She’s older.” Vanya realized she was rambling as he gave her an awkward nod. “And I should stop… talking. I’m _so_ sorry. Please come in.”

She stepped back from the door and allowed him inside, closing it behind him and then locking it. He chuckled, and Vanya wondered if she’d made him reconsider the class until he began to pull his jacket off.

“I’m guessing I look different,” he started, giving her a hesitant look, “than your usual students?”

“Um, yeah.” She answered, unsure of what else to say, and then, when she saw him hold his jacket on his arm, she motioned to the couch. “You can just…” she offered, then continued the previous thought, “yeah, twenty years or so different.”

They both chuckled, and she was glad to know she hadn’t made a complete ass out of herself. It was nice, seeing somebody as uncertain of themselves as she so often felt.

“Well, the ad didn’t say anything about age limits.”

“No! No, of course not. It’s – most of my students are kids. Easier to learn music when you’re young.” She explained. “You know, like a second language.”

“Ich verstehe!” He said, but Vanya wasn’t sure what she’d heard, and she was fairly certain her face expressed as much when he went on. “That’s German.” He clarified. “For ‘I understand.’ I took three years of that in high school.” He continued with a little shrug. “And that’s all I can remember.”

She hummed a non-committal response, not quite sure what else to do. He was chatty, but pleasant. She liked it but wasn’t sure how to react. She could barely keep up. Then, when neither of them spoke after that, she panicked a little. He was here for a reason! No need to make things more uncomfortable than they already were. She pointed towards her violin and the nook she typically held her classes in.

“Well, it’s right over here.” She walked past him, heading for the open space. “If you wanna…”

But then she realized none of the sheet music she’d need was laid out. She wasn’t prepared for this, _at all_. She had to start him somewhere, and her piece with the orchestra was certainly not it.

“Let me just – Sorry—” She moved to the binder she kept for her classes.

“Oh, it’s fine.” He said lightly, walking behind her.

“—get organized for a second.”

“Mm-hmm.” He hummed in acknowledgement, then gave a small laugh, and suddenly Vanya realized he was holding her violin as the bow screeched across the strings.

“Oh!” She let out, startled by his enthusiasm, and he laughed again. “You’re really just going for it.” She said.

It was good to see somebody else excited about music, but she was a _little_ worried about her violin as well. It was old, and he was more upbeat than her medication could prepare her for.

“Yeah.” He agreed, ready to hammer down again.

Oh!

“Um. No.” She stopped him and reached for the bow. “I’ll actually take that,” she said gently, and when he handed it over, she continued, reaching for the violin next. “And we’re just gonna start with the basics.”

He laughed.

“Probably a good idea."


	10. Episode 2 - Crazy Klaus (POV Five)

While Vanya was opening her door to Leonard, Five and Klaus stood waiting in the lobby on the twelve floor of the MeriTech Prosthetics building. The receptionist from this morning wasn’t thrilled to see them, but Klaus had assured her with a wink and a smile that ‘ _his son’_ would be on his best behavior. It rankled Five having to defer authority to his brother, but at least it kept them from getting kicked out. He appreciated Klaus’ lack of questions too. Whether it was desperation for cash or implicit trust, it was nice either way.

It didn’t take long for LabCoat to show up. He recognized Five immediately and hesitated.

“I—” he started, then stopped, looking between them.

“Benjamin Longdead.” Klaus stepped in, reaching forward without warning to grab the man’s hand. “A real _pleasure_ to meet you.”

_Did he really just use—?_

“Doctor Lance Biggs.” LabCoat answered back, shaking hands.

“I hear you met my little boy here earlier?” Klaus grinned, still clasping hands with him.

“I uh. Yes. This morning.”

“Well let’s say we go to your…” Klaus paused, looking around, as if he couldn’t remember where they were, before he finished with, “ _office_ , and have a nice chat. About his _naughty_ behavior.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, we can just—”

“Oh nonsense. I insist.” Klaus’ smile turned into a leer as he leaned in a little closer. “I need to know _all_ the details. For his _punishment_.”

LabCoat looked uncomfortable. Five _felt_ uncomfortable.

“Um. Okay. Sure. Right this way.”

He guided them into the _privacy_ of his fishbowl of an office. It was stupid, having an office with nothing but glass walls, but if nothing else, at least it afforded them an almost three-hundred-sixty-degree view of any incoming threats. He didn’t think the Commission would find him here without the tracker, but he didn’t want to underestimate them either.

“So what exactly is it you’d like to know Mr. Longdead?” LabCoat started once he and Klaus sat down, only giving Five a cursory glance before concentrating on his brother again.

“I’d like to know about…” Klaus looked up at Five from where he sat then, having no idea what else to say because he’d been told nothing about why they were here.

“About the owner of the eye.” Five finished for him, glaring at the man across the table.

LabCoat’s sighed.

“Like I said to your son earlier, any information about the prosthetics we build is strictly confidential. Without the client’s _consent_ , I simply can’t help you.”

“Well we can’t _get_ consent if you don’t give us a name.” Five argued, bracing himself against the desk.

“Well, that’s not my problem. Sorry. Now, there’s really nothing more I can do, so—”

“And what about _my_ consent?” Klaus chimed in.

“Excuse me?” The doctor asked, his irritation turning to confusion.

“Who gave _you_ permission,” Klaus continued, his voice gaining a tremor that drew Five’s stare. “To lay your _hands_ on my son?”

Five narrowed his eyes at his brother.

“What?” Both he and LabCoat asked at the same time.

“You heard me.” Klaus insisted.

“I didn’t _touch_ your son.” LabCoat stated.

“Oh _really_?” Klaus asked. “Well then how did he get that swollen lip then?”

What in the—

“He doesn’t have a swollen—” Five looked to LabCoat as he started to talk, but then all at once Klaus was on his feet and a fist was flying.

It landed on Five’s face with a loud smack, snapping his head to the side from the force as he grunted in pain.

“I want it.” Klaus said then, a thrill shivering through his voice. “Name please. _Now_.”

Five glared at the back of his brother’s head as he licked the blood from his lips. That son of a bitch.

He was crazy.

“You’re crazy.” LabCoat echoed the accusation out loud.

Klaus laughed.

“You got _no_ idea.” He grabbed the snow globe up off the desk and the doctor looked panicked. “’Peace on Earth.’ That’s so sweet.”

And then before Five could retaliate for the punch or react in any way, his brother smashed the snow globe against his own forehead, glass and glitter spraying across the desk and floor. Five winced, watching the impact. What the actual fuck? He’d _really_ lost it. This was a mistake. Klaus held his head and yelled in pain.

“God that hurt.” Klaus groaned.

LabCoat reached for the phone.

“I’m calling secure—” But he didn’t finish the sentence as Klaus snatched the phone and ripped it out of his hands. “What are you doing?”

Klaus pressed the phone to his ear and started to pant into it. Five looked around, worried they would start drawing attention seeing as there was only one _real_ wall in the office. Nobody seemed to notice them though.

“There’s been an assault,” he cried, “in Mr. Bigg’s office, and we need security, _now._ Schnell!” He yelled the last word before dropping the receiver back into its cradle.

Five felt a smile pull at his lips. He thought he saw where this was going. The crafty bastard. Insane, but crafty.

“Now here’s what’s gonna happen, Grant.” Klaus began, leaning forward against the desk. Whether to intimidate or because of the head injury, Five wasn’t entirely sure.

“It’s—” LabCoat lost his voice for a second. “Lance.”

“In about 60 seconds,” Klaus went on, “two security guards are gonna burst through that door and they’re gonna see a whole lot of blood, and they’re gonna wonder, ‘What the hell happened?’”

Five couldn’t help but grin at his brother’s unconventional genius.

“And we’re gonna tell them that _you_ ,” Klaus continued, his voice giving a dramatic waver that any director would be proud of, “beat the _shit_ out of us.”

He gave a final, over-the-top sob. Five was feeling pretty good about the performance and decided to let his brother continue talking. This was his show for the moment. More power to him if it got what they wanted.

“You’re gonna do great in prison, Grant.” Klaus teased. “Trust me, I’ve been there. Little piece of chicken like you. Oh my god,” he made the three words sound so dirty that Five wasn’t sure he’d ever use them again. “You’re gonna get passed around like a…”

Then Klaus started to gyrate his hips. It was vulgar, but effective. Five started to wonder if maybe he should stop him after all.

“You just – you’re gonna do great. That’s all I’m saying.” Klaus concluded with a bright grin.

“Jesus, you are a _real_ sick bastard.” LabCoat said, looking between the two of them.

“Thank you.” Klaus accepted, and Five honestly believed he meant it.

His grin had wavered for a minute during the prison schtick, but as his brother spit out the remnants of snow globe, it returned in full force. He was proud of the guy. The method wasn’t what he’d expected, but, as they were briskly walked over to the record room, Five had to admit that it got results.

Klaus hopped up onto the file cabinets while Five leaned against them, watching LabCoat search for the file on their eye. He pulled one out, glanced at them, then quickly looked back down.

“Oh. That’s strange.” He said, frowning.

“What?” Five asked.

Strange wasn’t good. Strange was bad. He didn’t want to hear ‘ _strange_ ,’ he wanted to hear a goddamn name.

“Uh. The eye. It hasn’t been purchased by a client yet.”

Klaus hopped down.

“What?” He asked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, uh, our logs say,” LabCoat started, fumbling the words a little as Klaus walked behind him to the other side and then leaned in too close, “that the eye with that serial number…” He paused. “This can’t be right. It hasn’t even been manufactured yet.”

At this his eyes met with Five’s.

“Where did you get that eye?”

Five’s stomach, full of nothing but coffee and aggravation at this point, twisted into a knot. Of-fucking-course. It couldn’t just _be_ that easy. He sighed, his jaw tightening with frustration. He was _that_ close! That close! And then he was furious, the anger swelling up and overtaking all efforts he’d put in place to keep the emotions at bay. His lips twitched. He had to get out of there. Before he hurt somebody.

“Let’s go.” He snarled at Klaus, pushing off the cabinet and launching backwards into a swift walk to the elevators.

He didn’t wait for his brother to catch up before calling it, but when he stepped on, Klaus was right behind him. He hit the ground floor button, then crossed his arms and simmered, trying not to take the burning disappointment out on his brother. He could hear him babbling while they descended, but he wasn’t listening. Blood pounded in his ears. The _only_ lead he had to ending the catastrophe waiting seven days away was a total bust. He had nothing. Nothing to follow up on. Nowhere to go. That was it.

What could he even _do_?

The angry disappointment began to crumble into depression.

“Well.” He said once they were out in the fresh air and away from the sterile scent of medical equipment. “This isn’t good.”

“I was pretty good though, right?” Klaus asked, clearly reveling in his performance despite it being fruitless in the end. “Yeah,” he went on, reliving it. “What about _my_ consent, bitch?” He laughed at his glorified recreation as they walked down the stairs away from the front entrance.

“Klaus, it doesn’t matter.” Five could find no joy in his brother’s amusement.

“What? _What_? What’s the big deal with this eye anyway?” Klaus finally asked.

“There is someone out there who’s going to lose an eye in the next seven days.” Five answered, letting his frustration fill each word. “They’re gonna bring about the end of life on this Earth as we know it.”

And there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it. He walked past his brother, driftless.

“Yeah, can I get that 20 bucks, like, now, or what?” Klaus asked, ignoring everything Five had just said.

“Your 20 bucks?” Five asked, incredulous.

Had his idiot brother heard _nothing_? Did _nobody_ care about the world ending?

“Yeah, my 20 bucks.”

“The apocalypse is coming,” Five seethed, stepping closer. “And all you can think about is getting high?”

Klaus seemed unbothered by the accusation.

“Well. I’m also quite hungry.” He said, splaying his hands across his stomach. “Tummy’s a-rumbling’.” He added, giving a little growl for his bowels as he wagged his fingers out playfully.

Five couldn’t comprehend the level of Zen stupidity.

“You’re useless.” End of the world people! End of the _fucking_ world! “You’re all useless!”

“Oh come on.” Klaus said as Five stormed back to the stairs. “You need to lighten up, old man.”

Five sat with a sigh. _Old man_. He warmed to his brother ever so slightly at the acknowledgement to his true age. That small nod to his internal reality made him feel better than anything else had since his return. At least somebody was willing to accept the truth of him. Thinking about the disconnect between his brain and body though just made him _more_ depressed.

“Hey, you know, I’ve just now realized why you’re so uptight.” Klaus continued as he walked to join him on the stairs. “You must be horny as hell!” He concluded with a laugh, taking a seat.

And the warmth was gone.

“All those years by yourself.” Klaus went on. “It’s gotta screw with your head, being alone.”

Alone. What a joke. He was alone _now_ for all the help his family provided. At least Klaus _believed_ him though. That was something. The last embers of anger fizzled out. He missed _her._

“Well.” He said at last, deciding that Delores deserved to at least be acknowledged for the absolute savior to his life and sanity that she’d been. “I wasn’t alone.”

“Oh?” Klaus looked at him, surprised. “Pray tell.”

And Five kind of wanted to.

He’d never gotten much of a chance to talk about the love of his life to anyone before, holding her close to the vest and never letting her stray far. He didn’t trust anyone enough to say more. He knew, on some level, that it wasn’t a typical sort of relationship, but it had gotten him through the toughest years of his life. Delores hovered somewhere between a dream and something solid, her existence in constant flux, even in his thoughts and memories. He felt oddly comfortable talking to Klaus about her; not about everything yet, but at least enough to open the door for more.

“Her name was Delores.” He told him. “We were together for over 30 years.”

 _Over forty,_ her voice whispered from somewhere in the back of his mind, a correction she’d made for him when he’d brought her wine on one of their anniversaries.

“Thirty years?” Klaus asked, and when Five nodded he gaped. “Oh wow!” He chuckled. “God the longest I’ve been with someone was – I dunno – three weeks? And that’s only because…”

Five looked down at the pavement and tuned him out. Delores… He’d tried. Right? She couldn’t have asked him to do more than he already had. He had tried, and his family just wasn’t cut out for it. They couldn’t help him stop the apocalypse. He had to do it without them. But he didn’t have to do it alone.

Making his decision, Five tightened his fists and his power came to life with a swirl of blue energy. Without another word to Klaus he jumped, landing himself into the back of a passing taxicab.

“Don’t stop.” He said as the driver gasped in surprise. “Just keep going.”

As they passed by his brother, who was still sitting on the stairs, Five waved goodbye to him.

Klaus could manage to make it home on his own.


	11. Episode 2 - Ending Separations (POV Vanya & Five)

##### Vanya

Vanya listened to and watched as Leonard played through Frere Jacques for the third time. He was by no means even a little good, but considering it was his first time holding a violin, she knew it could have been much, _much_ worse.

“That’s coming along.” She said, hoping to encourage him.

He smiled, lowering the instrument.

“Looks like I chose the right teacher.”

“Oh…” She smiled and looked down. It was nice of him to say, but – “I don’t know about that.” She met his stare. “My next student could probably lecture _me_ on what I’m doing wrong. She’s – she’s a bit of a prodigy.”

It tarnished what little pride she had to admit that, but it wasn’t untrue.

“Well, you can relax.” Leonard said. “ _I_ have never been a prodigy at anything.”

The confession was sweet, and she sighed.

“Well, that makes two of us.”

He smiled and glanced down, a new quiet filling her apartment.

“So, I will see you next week and, uh, practice the bow hold,” she hurried to end it, gently taking her instrument from his hands, “uh, and maybe get a violin.” She added the last bit with a smile and a light laugh.

He chuckled as well, standing to join her.

“You can be honest.” He said, and when she turned to face him, he continued. “Do you think it’s weird wanting to learn violin this late in life?”

“No. No, Monet didn’t really start painting until his forties. He did all right for himself.” It was the same reassurance she’d given herself many times before. He gave a little smile, and she went on. “No, if you love music, then you’re in the right place.”

He let out a stilted laugh.

“I’d say you’re describing my dad more than me. _He_ was the music lover. It’s kind of why I’m here. He passed away a while ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Vanya’s response was automatic, and she wasn’t sure what else _to_ say, her own experiences with death far from usual.

“Oh no. It’s fine. We had a _complicated_ relationship. Didn’t really get each other, you know? But he loved violin, and that was _not_ my thing. So, I guess I’m here to,” he paused, “understand him better. If that makes any sense. Family. It’s never easy, right?”

It made sense. She felt herself smile. And he certainly wasn’t wrong. Family was a lot of things. Easy wasn’t one of them.

“Sorry for getting heavy on you there,” he apologized. “Um, stupid, I know.” He gave a nervous laugh, and Vanya silently cursed her inability to engage in vigorous discourse.

“No.” She said, following as he went to the couch to get his coat. “No, stupid is _not_ knowing. Believe me. Uh. I get it.”

She crossed her arms, thinking for a second of her own complicated relationships.

“Mm-hmm.” He hummed, slipping his jacket on. “Well. Thanks. Guess I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah.”

He turned for the door, but before even reaching to open it he spun back.

“Um. I’m a woodworker.” He said as she watched him, puzzled. “I have a shop in, um, Bricktown. You should come by some time. You know, check it out.”

He stared at her then, and it took Vanya a moment to realize what he might have been suggesting. Did he – was he – did he _like_ her? For some reason, her thoughts jumped to Five. He was back. It didn’t mean – _couldn’t mean_ – what it might have meant two decades ago, but she wanted… Wanted what exactly? To make sure she was there for him anyway? He hadn’t wanted _her_ around, she reminded herself. Her reflections and feelings were still too disconcerted given the last two days she’d had, and she needed some time to herself, time to think. This man was nice, but—

“This week I’m…” she struggled to think of the right word for my-missing-brother-of-twenty-years-came-back-and-might-be-insane-and-I-want-to-be-there-for-him. “Busy.” She went with finally. “But—”

“It’s fine.” Leonard interrupted with a sweet smile, his tone kind. “I understand. Another time.” He added, before giving her a playful two-finger salute that reminded her of Five. “See you next week.”

And then he was opening the door and stepping out.

“Bye.” She said too late as he pulled it closed.

Then she was alone. 

She stared at the floor, wondering about his invitation and why she’d felt the need to decline it. She didn’t owe Five anything if he didn’t want her help to begin with. Right? But the desire to be there for him, for _them_ , persisted, a desire she thought she’d laid to bed years ago but apparently had not. She thought back to her encounter with Allison in the hallway. She’d been so mad about it before, so indignant, but now it only made her sad. Her sister had been right after all; Vanya never _had_ loved somebody the way a parent might, and she had no idea what that was like.

She glanced at the door.

_“You separate yourself from everyone and everything. You always have…”_

She knew that her sister might have been right about that as well. Worried, not only about the way they’d left things, but about the conversation she’d intruded on, Vanya went to her phone to call the house. Maybe it was time to try and make amends, try to fill the gorge she’d hewn between her and the others ever since getting her life together, try to be part of their lives again. Even if she didn’t talk to Allison directly, she could at least have somebody else check on her and make sure everything was okay. It wasn’t much, but it was a first step.

##### Five

Five had waited at a nearby bus stop for the store to close and the sun to set. By then the rain had started and the temperature had dropped. As he marched towards the entrance, the neon above reflected red across the wet pavement. It looked like fresh blood. He could vaguely remember coming here once as a kid before his trip to the future, but he remembered picking through the rubble afterwards with startling clarity.

A shiver of déjà vu traveled across his skin as he looked up and recognized the gleaming sign overhead.

The last time he’d seen it the plastic had been cracked, and it had sat half buried in a pile of shattered cinderblock. Pulling his hands from his pockets, Five jumped to the other side of the glass door. His damp skin pebbled in the artificial air, and he tucked both hands back where they’d been. The store was large, open, and devoid of people. It was strange being back here. The roof had been missing on his first post-apocalyptic visit, so despite the tall ceiling and wide expanse, the building felt claustrophobic somehow.

He strode further in, passing a placard that was almost prescient with its relevance. Senior Tuesday’s, it read, 10% off. Yeah well, he qualified – had qualified once – but he wasn’t there to shop either way. This was a rescue mission. Of sorts.

Five headed towards the women’s clothes section, the figures standing ahead of him bathed in blue light. It was nice, seeing the way everything looked before he’d met her. It was almost like looking at pictures of a person before you knew them, seeing them in an element you were never part of. Something in his stomach fluttered.

Well shit.

He was _nervous_ again. Unbelievable.

Licking his lips, Five made a quick detour. He needed better light, he told himself. Couldn’t find her if he couldn’t see her. He wasn’t stalling. He swung by a shelf with some random items, a shelf he recognized from his first visit as he’d been scouring the place for survival gear and a change of clothes. It was a small discount section, but it had held some useful things.

Clicking the flashlight on, he headed towards the blue glow. He passed by a group of faceless bodies standing together as they modeled the latest fashion, casting his light across them just to make sure she wasn’t hidden among their group. She wasn’t. He continued out into the main aisle. As he pointed the light ahead, his breath caught and he paused, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

There she was.

She stood straight ahead, waiting for him; quiet; beautiful.

He’d never seen her whole before, so as he slowly approached, he took in her full figure. Yellow hat. She pulled it off of course, she always did hats well. Brunette with bangs; somehow, he’d always known that, had always imagined her like that whenever they talked about how tedious hair was in a world without running water. And legs. Those didn’t suit her at all. He’d known her practically his whole life; seeing her stand on a set of legs was unnatural. She was beautiful – perfect – regardless, but he preferred her as he remembered. She smiled, looking coyly off into the distance, knowing his thoughts, and he sighed.

“Delores.” He called out, mollified by her presence and more relaxed than he’d been in over a year, even if he _was_ thrilled to see her.

 _“Five_.” She said, her voice soft and sultry.

She knew exactly why he was here, but she was letting him do the talking. He tried to feel guilty about seeking her out, but he didn’t. Not now that he saw her.

“It’s good to see you.” He said, when she remained quiet.

“ _You’re back awful soon._ ” She replied. “ _Sooner than expected. Sooner than we agreed._ ”

“I’ve missed you…”

“ _Obviously_.”

“Obviously.” He agreed.

“ _You aren’t looking too good._ ” She commented, her voice concerned.

“Well. I… It’s been a rough couple of days.” Five admitted.

 _“Do you want to tell me about it?_ ” She asked. “ _Take a seat. Let’s talk._ ”

He was ready to do just that, but then he saw them. Two silhouettes standing on the other side of her display. Their heads were too bulbous. Masks. Guns out. Pointed their way.

“No!” Five shouted, panic and adrenaline flooding into him.

And then they were firing.

Five ducked down and moved out of the aisle in a crouch, bullets exploding and ricocheting behind him. As he took cover behind a rack of clothes, he spun back around just in time to see Delores shatter in half, her legs left standing as her top half toppled to the floor. He glanced around his cover to get another look at the assailants. He confirmed his worst fears.

“Shit! It’s them.” He breathed, his panic ballooning for a heartbeat.

Hazel and Cha-Cha. How had they found him? He had to get out of here!

But not without Delores.

Despite the risk to his life and the future of all mankind, Five darted out from his hiding spot and rushed into the aisle. He scooped up Delores as a hail of bullets flew over his head, one of them close enough he could feel it whip his hair. His foot slipped in the debris but he caught himself, then scrambled sideways, back out of their line of sight.

Crouched down, he looked at Delores for a second to assess the damage. She looked okay. A little shaken up, but fine.

“I’ll be right back for you.” He promised, setting her down.

“ _Be safe._ ” She whispered as he sprinted away in the opposite direction.

Gunfire blasted over his head as he ran low. On instinct, he jumped over to the next row of clothes, a spray of sparks showering down on him as he kept moving forward. He ran, then jumped again, further away this time as the bullets breezed by the back of his head. Keeping under cover of the shelves, he snuck through the garden section until he found something he could stab with. A spade. It would work. He aimed, then jumped again, coming out behind the floppy-eared assassin.

He slashed at their arm, hoping to disarm and ready to attack a second time, but a shotgun went off to his side, the pellets pulverizing clothes and hardware into fine bits. He jumped again, this time for cover. He landed between two rows of clothes, running as fast as he could crouched down, but somehow, their aim followed him. Bullets tore overhead as he scampered, just doing what he could to avoid getting shot as he raced through the maze of clothing, back towards Delores, grabbing at the strap of a large bag along the way. There was no stopping them here. He had to leave. Immediately.

He scooped Delores up and tucked her into the duffle bag, then leaned out to see where the two assassins were. Their backs were to him. He took his chance and dashed down the aisle right behind the short-eared one. But not fast enough. The shotgun went off and Five felt his lungs shudder as he darted to avoid the bullets. He went to jump, but the space-time fabric resisted, bouncing his fists back as he tried to tear it open with too little power. He groaned from the strain then let up. No! It wasn’t working!

He popped up to see where the attackers were. They didn’t have eyes on him yet. He tried again.

Five clenched his fists around the recognizable spatial threads and butted his head against the universe’s framework, but it didn’t budge. He couldn’t penetrate it.

“Shit!” He hissed. “Come on!”

But he was out of time as shots rang out. He ran again, this time making a beeline for the front exit in spite of the exposure it would risk. He vaulted over a display shelf, the structure almost giving way as the assassins tore through where he’d been just a nanosecond prior. Then he was over, stumbling forward to find balance as he hung onto Delores’ bag with all he had.

Then came the sirens, and Five stopped in his tracks. He was trapped. His breath lodged in his throat as he stood in indecision. _Move!_ He had to move! Standing there frozen was a death sentence! Police cars screeched to a halt on the road outside, sliding on the slick asphalt, and Five dove to the side and squeezed himself behind a checkout counter.

He was panting, sweating, and his heart was beating wild against his ribcage. Pressing his back against the counter behind him, Five hugged Delores to his chest as she poked out of the bag. He had to think. Had to clear his mind. The assassins wouldn’t risk further assault. It was against standard procedure. He’d have to sneak past the cops or risk arrest. Arrest would be a death sentence. He’d be trapped there until he could recharge. If they found him before that, he was done.

His eyes fell to Delores. She was intact. That’s what mattered most. She was okay.

 _“It’ll be okay, Five.”_ She whispered, trying to calm him down. _“The police are barely a hassle compared to Hazel and Cha-Cha. Get us out of here and we’ll figure out what to do next_.”

She was right. He knew it. But he couldn’t stop thinking about how close to dying they’d come. He couldn’t stop thinking about having two of the best assassins on his ass. He couldn’t stop thinking about how fucked everything was.

As police flanked the building, Five’s eyes darted around the checkout counter interior. He spotted something reflect in the dim light, and when he looked closer, he saw it was a candy bar. Maybe there _was_ a God. He reached for it. Didn’t matter what it was at this point. Ripping it open with his teeth, he took a bite and chewed like he was on a mission, the taste passing him by altogether. Heart still thudding, he finished the bar and waited for the cops to get close enough so that he could jump past them.

Delores, of course, had been right. The sugar had given him enough energy for a couple jumps, and he’d only needed one to get by the swarm of police. Once outside, Five glanced back at the store, then made a hasty retreat for the main road. He used his second jump to steal a few bottles of rum from the liquor store across the street.

As he made for a phone booth, he unzipped the duffle and tucked them inside beside Delores.

“Don’t give me that look.” He mumbled. “It’s been a shit day.”

She didn’t argue.

He called a cab then and made the commute back to his childhood home, taking sips of liquor whenever he felt shaky again, his fingers taking every opportunity to brush against Delores for further comfort.

Then he was back.

As he climbed the stairs to the mezzanine, he saw Allison and Luther walk by.

“Five?” His sister called out, and he slowed to look at them. “What the hell happened to you?”

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t drunk enough to engage with anyone else today. What was there to even say?

“Are you okay?” Luther asked. “Can we help?” He was reaching out then, and Five’s jaw clenched.

Luther’s dead face flashed in front of him. His skin had been cold, even in the hot wind. Was he reaching for the bag? For Delores? It didn’t matter. He thought of how incredibly heavy the body had been – too heavy to bury beneath the ground – and Five grabbed his brother by the wrist, stopping his grasp midair. He didn’t need their help. Didn’t want it. He hadn’t gotten their help _then_. They were already dead. There was nothing—

“There’s _nothing_ you can do.” He croaked, voice as drained as his spirit. He was exhausted. “There’s nothing _any_ of you can do.”

He dropped Luther’s wrist and turned, walking away from them as memories clawed their way through the old mental defenses he’d erected. He couldn’t repel the images as they rose behind his eyes, crashing over him and pressing him down with wave after wave until he could barely breathe.

As he trudged down the hall and the stairs to his bedroom, he could feel loose rubble slide under his feet. The buildings burning nearby were hot against his skin. It was still his first couple weeks in the apocalypse, and he’d left the husk of his home behind, nothing and nobody to be found above the ruins. His fingers were bloody and blistered from digging. He’d sheltered where he could, a shivering, frightened mess of a boy, marching down what seemed to once be a main street with no destination in mind. Every time the bricks of a building would shift under their own weight he’d investigate, praying for a survivor, digging and clawing at the dirt and rocks until his hands hurt too badly and he had to stop.

At night, the bodies he found would whisper to him. He couldn’t understand what they said, but he pictured their dead fingers pushing away the stones that they were buried beneath. He’d passed by Gimble Brothers then. Mom had taken them there once, he’d thought. His feet followed the memory.

He picked through the remains of the store. It had been the first time in days he realized that he had to do more than walk aimlessly. An echo of Dad’s stupid records carried on the wind, and Five looked around for a second, wild with hope. Had he just – was that real? He blinked, but the sound didn’t return. The records though… He remembered bits of the survival information they had narrated over breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Survive. That’s what he had to do.

Five walked into his bedroom and stood in the doorway, and when he walked inside it was to approach a shelf that had been knocked sideways, its contents strewn across broken bits of wall and ceiling. He saw a canteen and grabbed it. There was a flashlight there too, and a warm cap that could protect his ears. He spotted a bandana, and soon enough his arms were laden with supplies. He was looking for something to carry it all in when he saw her for the first time.

Her torso was laid out on top of other mannequin parts, but at the angle she sat, it looked like she was staring right at him and smiling. Five stared back. He took a step forward, then paused and looked around, looking for somebody that might laugh at him for doing what he wanted to do next. But there was nobody. Five’s lip quivered, and his eyes stung as tears sprouted. He dropped everything in his arms and wiped at his eyes with the back of a hand before approaching the mannequin.

He crouched down and examined her face. It was a nice face. Pretty. She stared up at him, just as sightless as all the other faces he’d come across, but hers didn’t hurt to look at in the same way. She looked friendly, and he needed a friendly face.

“Hi.” He said, feeling a little embarrassed.

It was the first time he’d talked in more than twenty-four hours, and his voice came out as a rasp, rusty with disuse and still sore from the days he’d spent screaming out for his family – for anybody – while he searched.

“I’m looking for my… for anyone.” He confessed softly. “You haven’t seen anybody, have you?”

She didn’t say anything. He didn’t think she would, even though he hoped for it. His eyes moved from her face and down her slender neck, then followed the single arm she had as it pointed elsewhere. He looked to where she was pointing, and that’s when he spotted the wagon. It was just what he needed.

“Good eye.” He told her. “Thanks.”

After Five grabbed the wagon and piled in the equipment he’d scavenged, he looked at the pretty mannequin one more time. Inadvertently or not, she _had_ helped him out. He knew she wasn’t real, but the thought of leaving her behind gave him a twinge of guilt. It felt good too, talking out loud, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it when he was all alone. Before putting too much thought into it, Five picked her up and planted her on top of his gear.

“You can come with.” He said. “While I look for them.”

As Five walked to his bed and set the duffle bag down, he could hear the crackle of fire as he sat by a pile of burning debris with his new companion. He stared at her in the firelight, and it was less lonely than sitting by himself. Just having a face to look at made the darkness less awful. He wondered what her name would be if she were real.

“Mom would have a good option for you.” He told her. “She helped name everyone. Gave us a book. Helped us pick. I didn’t like any of them though.” He added, wistful. “I mean, she tried, but I…”

His throat tightened as he remembered the callous choice to forego the name his Mom had suggested. She’d looked so hurt by his decision, but she hadn’t argued. Two – Diego – had called him selfish.

“But it doesn’t matter anymore.” He said, fighting back tears. “Does it?”

Five sat on the edge of his bed as the sun rose in his mind, as he carted the yet unnamed Delores through the city. He’d been walking by a ruined building like any other and had noticed a hand stuck out from the wreckage. That wasn’t unusual, but the eye gripped tight between its fingers was. Letting go of the wagon, he neared the hand and knelt to take a closer look. The eye was covered in bright red blood.

He pried it out of the dead man’s grip and rolled it in his fingers. It was fake; made of glass. Bizarre, to say the least. Despite his ongoing shock and the numbness that came in waves, he felt a pang of curiosity. What kind of man plucked out eyes? He leaned up and looked over the fallen stones that the arm protruded from. He spotted a face and stared. It was oddly well preserved compared to the others he’d found. And it looked… familiar. He wasn’t sure how, but it did, and that familiarity made his heart begin to pound.

Something in his stomach twisted painfully.

Unable to put a name to the face, Five looked around the rest of the destroyed building from where he crouched, trying to figure out what it might have been before. It was impossible to tell, but as he looked, he spotted another corpse. It too looked familiar, and too fresh for how long it must have sat there. He tried to blink it away. It didn’t disappear though, and with his heart jackhammering, Five ran over to it.

Eyes damp as the memories assaulted him, Five unzipped Delores out of the duffle bag and set her on the bed. He stared at her, then leaned forward and rested his head against hers, his feet pounding against the ground until he was within reach of the next body. The flash of recognition made it hard to breathe, and Five could only think one word as he reached down to shake the corpse’s shoulder.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no…_

There was no movement. He was dead. As dead as everyone else despite the lack of decomposition. Five fell backwards amidst the chunks of steel and concrete, unable to look away as tears fell, his body already aware of what his brain refused to accept. Something unique had happened here. Ripping his gaze sideways, it was only to find another familiar cadaver. No! He swallowed then stumbled away, desperate to put space between himself and the truth and the dead and even more desperate to find somebody living. Instead, he blundered across one more recognizable face that would never smile again.

_No, no, no, no…_

But his denials were useless. He could see the tattoo sitting below a clenched fist. He could see the tattoo on the dead man’s wrist and his spirit crumpled. It was an umbrella. Same as his. The same one that his family…

Five squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed a bottle out of the duffle bag. As he twisted the top off he stared at Delores, his eyes bright and damp and wide as they bounced between the present, the past, the future. Everything was fucked. And he couldn’t get out of his head. Taking a long swig, he looked away, letting the comfort of her company keep him sane until he could pass out. She couldn’t make the memories go away. She couldn’t make the nightmares stop. But she could stay with him through it all and be there when he resurfaced.


	12. Episode 3 - Running Late (POV Vanya)

#### March 26th, 2019

As soon as Vanya opened her eyes, she knew that she was late. She could see it from the hue of ambient light pouring in from outside, much brighter than it should have been. Willing herself to be wrong, she glanced at her alarm clock and groaned.

“Shit…”

There was no way she’d make it to practice on time.

After rushing through her morning routine and making the next bus by luck alone, Vanya tore down the theatre hall, hoping and praying that they hadn’t started yet, but she knew better. She was far too late to be so fortunate.

As she turned the next corner, her instrument case bouncing against her backside, Vanya considered that she might need to ease up on the pills again. She moved the case to her hand so it wouldn’t jostle as much. Her therapist had warned her about taking too many in their last sessions, but when Allison hadn’t returned her call, and after the crazy two days she’d had, she risked an additional pill just to get through the night when she’d woken in a cold sweat. It had worked alright, a little _too_ well, and yet she felt no more rested.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” She panted with every step.

And when she opened the doors to the small practice amphitheater at last, music poured out. She ducked inside.

“ _Shit_.” She was disgustingly late.

As swiftly and quietly as she could, Vanya trotted up to the small stage, then walked behind the rest of the orchestra to the empty chair waiting for her. The conductor’s eyes were closed, and while she knew her tardiness would be noticed, she hoped she could slide into the piece smoothly enough that nobody would mention it. As she opened her violin case though and the snaps clicked and echoed, the music came to an abrupt stop.

She sat up, knowing she was the cause.

“Um. I’m so sorry I’m late.” She offered.

“I hadn’t noticed.” The conductor stated, his tone implying nothing, but she could read between the lines.

He cleared his throat, and Vanya rushed to unpack. He tapped the podium right as she finished.

“From the top.” He called out.

The music began, this time with Vanya part of it, and as she played, she couldn’t help but notice the adoration on their conductor’s face as he watched the First Chair. The way Helen handled the bow and fingered the strings of her violin; it was art. She’d been watching her perform for years, and she never got tired of seeing the way her delicate wrists bent and dipped, the way her throat curved as she held the instrument beneath her chin.

When practice came to an end, everyone packed up, a few of her colleagues talking together as they clicked cases shut and shrugged on their coats and scarves. She was never part of these conversations, and nobody gave her a second glance. Her tardiness wasn’t even worth further notice, and nobody asked if everything was okay. This wasn’t her first time being late, but she didn’t make a habit of it either. She was invisible to them though, just a single string among many.

Instrument back in its case, Vanya followed everyone out into the hallway, bringing up the rear as she so often did. She was ready to leave and head for the bus stop when she noticed Helen swinging into the restroom. Her feet froze as she stared at the closing door.

_“You separate yourself from everyone and everything. You always have…”_

Allison’s words haunted her. They were encouraging and taunting, no longer a source of anger as much as a call to action.

_“You’re an adult now…”_

Her sister was right.

The concertmaster had been on her mind for some time, and she’d done nothing about it. For well over a year, she’d been harboring a sizeable crush on the woman. She was talented, intelligent, and her cool confidence was something that not only drew Vanya in, but was also something she aspired to have herself one day. For months she’d been working up the courage to talk to Helen about the piece they were practicing. It seemed the easiest place to start, but she’d yet to say anything beyond hello.

She swallowed, wondering how awkward it would be to start up a conversation in the bathroom. Was that too inappropriate? Too intimate? Too weird? She could wait for her to come out, but Vanya knew that Helen would outpace her in a manner of seconds and be gone before she could even get a word in.

And so, taking a deep breath, she walked into the bathroom.

But Helen was right there. Standing at the mirrors, fixing her hair and suddenly Vanya didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t planned this far, hadn’t thought of a good excuse to even be in the bathroom herself! Trying to keep from turning and walking back out, Vanya forced her legs forward and went to a sink. She turned it on and ran her fingers beneath the cold stream, then glanced over her shoulder, once, twice, gathering her courage. Then she turned to talk.

“Helen.” She greeted, drawing closer.

There was no answer, so Vanya continued, her mouth growing dry.

“You were great today.” Still nothing. “Really, really great.” She added, growing more uncomfortable by the second.

“Thanks.” Helen answered stiffly, turning the opposite way as she went to grab her coat from the sink behind her.

Vanya wasn’t always the best at reading social cues, but she knew that she was losing this conversation – if it could even be called that – and fast. Desperate to keep it going, she continued talking.

“It’s those runs in the Stravinsky. I’ve been hacking at them for weeks.” She tried. “And you just make—”

“Make them look easy?” Helen interrupted, looking unimpressed by her attempt.

Vanya gave a small nod, taken aback by the icy tone and disdainful stare.

“What’s your name again?” Helen asked, and whatever hope she’d had for something more developing between them crumpled in an instant.

Years of playing together and she hadn’t even remembered her name…

“Vanya.” She answered weakly.

“Vanya.” Helen repeated. “And how many years have you been stuck at Third Chair?”

 _Five_ , she thought, bitter and embarrassed. Rather than answer though, her eyes dropped down, then off to the side. She knew that she wouldn’t want to hear what came next, but she didn’t have the power to walk away from it.

“At a certain point,” Helen continued, “it’s not about practice. It’s whether you’ve got something special.”

Vanya looked up at her again, a cold fist tightening in her stomach even as heat crept up her neck. She couldn’t believe that her father’s words were finding her out here, beyond the house, beyond his grave.

“And maybe you just… Don’t.” Helen suggested, channeling Reginald surer than Klaus ever could. “You can put in your 10,000 hours, or you can go find something you’re _actually_ passionate about and stop slogging away at Stravinsky like a scared 13-year-old.”

The cold fist grew gravid with resentment, and she could only nod, too stunned to respond more than that.

“Think it over.” Helen added, as if she’d supplied life-changing advice, as if Vanya _weren’t_ already passionate about music and simply unable to will her stiff fingers into a better performance.

With nothing left to say, Helen briskly left the bathroom, leaving Vanya chained in place by the cruel indifference. All she had wanted to do was compliment the woman, spark up a conversation about something they both had an interest in, and instead she was right back in her father’s presence. She was listening to his critique of her talent, his unkind words weighing her down until she fled the room, fled for the solitude of her bedroom to be crushed alone under a torrent of tears. Feeling that mass once more, Vanya reached into her pocket and pulled out her pills, taking one dry and praying it would numb her faster than the shame could bruise.


	13. Episode 3 - The Stakeout (POV Five)

After restless hours of nightmares, shit memories, and trying to drown them both in a bottle, Five woke to the ache of new injuries and a mouth that tasted like compost. He groaned and sat up, his head stuffed with cotton and needles. He was thirsty and annoyed at this body’s lack of tolerance. Delores looked at him from the foot of the bed, silent judgement written across her features. They’d fallen asleep – yeah, okay, passed out more like – above the covers. He hadn’t even taken his clothes or shoes off.

He reeked of sweat and rum, and his lip curled at the odor. It had been over a year since he’d let himself get this soiled. He didn’t miss it.

Five pulled off his coat, vest, and shirt, then looked down at the burning sting coming from below his shoulder. A long stripe of clotted blood grinned back at him. Those assholes had managed to hit him after all. At least it wasn’t worse.

Going to his dresser, he pulled the top drawer open, then grabbed out the old first aid kit that Vanya used to use when she’d patch up his minor scrapes and cuts. It was almost two decades old, but Five had worked with far older things during the apocalypse to bandage himself, and he wasn’t concerned.

“Haven’t died of tetanus yet.” He mumbled.

 _“There’s always a first time._ ” Delores teased, a smile in her voice.

He brought it to the edge of the bed and sat down, pulling out all he’d need, rolling his eyes at the Billy the Choo-Choo bandages, the only option available.

“ _How cute._ ”

“Better than nothing.”

 _“You could ask your Mom to help._ ” She suggested.

“No. She’d take too long.” He began threading the needle. “I don’t care how it looks. Besides, if I leave the room somebody might see me, and I don’t have time for twenty questions.”

Delores fell silent after that as he concentrated on stitching himself up, grimacing as the needle pinched his skin. When it looked like it wouldn’t ooze at the next stiff breeze, Five felt satisfied. Might have been his best stitch job yet. He slapped a bandage on over top, then stood.

After throwing the first aid tools back into their bin and back inside his drawer, he jumped down to the bathroom. He rinsed his mouth with water then stole some of the listerine sitting off to the side, finger-combed his hair, then washed his face and underarms with a washrag from the shelf. Presentable enough. At least for what he had planned for the day.

Then it was back upstairs to throw on a fresh set of clothes. He noticed his old suit hanging in the closet beside his even older uniforms, clean and pressed and waiting for a body he didn’t have anymore. He sighed, grabbed an outfit that fit, then shut the door on it and went about getting dressed.

Once he finished, he got Vanya’s autobiography – and all his attached notes – out of his sock drawer, then put it in the duffle bag along with the liquor bottles that were either empty, or half-empty. Whether it was his Mom or somebody else coming in, he didn’t feel like answering any questions about his drinking. Was nobody’s business but his. He then tucked Delores gently back into the duffle bag on top of everything, promising she wouldn’t be in there long.

And then he was out the window, stepping onto the fire escape. He knew Luther and Allison were wandering around inside, and he had no interest in chatting with them. Not to explain last night, and not to explain anything else. As he clattered down the metal ladder, he heard a rustle of plastic and tin below. He glanced down to see somebody rifling through the dumpster, and then heard an all too familiar voice.

“Dammit, where’s Dad’s stuff?” Klaus howled, throwing a bag sideways. “Shut up!” He said a moment later, to either no one at all, or to somebody no longer among the living.

Great. Five rolled his eyes, then wound his way down the escape, listening as his brother continued to talk.

“I’m trying to find whatever priceless crap was in that priceless box so that Pogo will get off my ass!” His brother griped, digging through the mountain of trash below his feet.

“I’d ask what you’re up to, Klaus,” Five called down, knowing he’d be spotted soon anyway. “But then it occurred to me: I don’t care.”

Best to get that out of the way.

“Hey!” Klaus answered, and then laughed. “You know there are easier ways out of the house, buddy?”

“This one involved,” Five let go of the last rung and dropped to the pavement, “the least amount of talking. Or so I thought.”

“Hey, hey, hey, so,” Klaus leaned against the edge of the bin and looked down at him, a silver flask shining in his hand. “You need any more company today?”

Like he needed a casual degloving.

“I could uh… clear my schedule.” Klaus offered, taking a swig.

Five was done with family bonding.

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full.” He answered.

“Oh this?” Klaus asked. “No, no. I can do this whenever. I’m just—” He slipped backwards into the dumpster then with a quick gasp and a clang, his voice floating out not a second later. “I just misplaced something. That’s all… Oh! Found it! Thank _god_!”

Klaus popped back up, a half-eaten doughnut in his hand. He looked at Five, then took a bite, the discomfort on his face expanding with every chew.

“Delicious.” He tried to say, gulping down a chunk.

Five was unimpressed. He’d eaten worse things from worse places, and he had no more patience for his siblings.

“I’m done funding your drug habit.” He said with an air of finality before turning away.

“Come on!” Klaus called after him. “You don’t – Maybe I just wanna hang out with my brother! Mi hermano! I love you!”

Five ignored him, pulling the bag off his back as he approached a van sitting straight ahead, the window wide open. Better to make a clean cut from the family altogether and find his own ride. Then he could come and go as he pleased without worrying they’d chase after. He trotted up to the driver’s side door.

“Even if you can’t love yourself!” Klaus was still shouting from behind as he looked into the window.

No keys in the ignition. Not a big deal. Five climbed inside, put his bag between the seats, then leaned sideways and ripped the paneling under the steering wheel off. The old man had never taught them how to hotwire a car, but the one thing the apocalypse had provided was an overabundance of time to read and skills to master. The engine turned over a second later, and then Five shifted gears and pulled out of the alley, onto the street.

The way back to MeriTech was familiar at this point, so he didn’t need the map to get him there. He parked across from the building and turned off the van, leaning back and settling in for a long day of watching and waiting. He had no other leads to even follow at this point, so he wanted to make sure this one was well and truly exhausted before moving on.

As he rolled down the window to let in some air, his stomach grumbled. Shit. He frowned, trying to think of the last time he ate something that wasn’t pure sugar. The time and place eluded him. Shit, had he not eaten a real meal since before 1963? He considered going someplace to pick something up, but then he caught sight of LabCoat walking along the sidewalk, headed for the building.

LabCoat looked back over his shoulder, and Five narrowed his eyes. The asshole was hiding something. He could feel it. The doctor disappeared inside, and Five looked away and let out a heavy breath. He might be waiting here for a while, but he had no intention of leaving knowing that LabCoat was here. If he missed him that could be a whole ‘nother day down the drain. He felt like he was forgetting something though, and then it hit him.

“Oh. Shit.” He muttered, twisting in his seat to get at the duffle bag.

He unzipped it and found a familiar face staring up at him, not at all amused at having been left in the dark for almost an hour.

“Hey.” He sighed, pulling out a mostly-empty bottle of liquor and setting it to the side. “Sorry you were in there for so long, Delores” He apologized, sitting her up out of the bag with care as another bottle, this one empty, rolled out and onto the floor.

Huh. He couldn’t remember finishing that one.

He positioned her between the two front seats so that she’d have a decent view, but clearly his apology hadn’t placated her as much as he’d hoped.

“ _Drinking already?_ ” She asked with a bite to her tone, noticing the bottles.

She never missed a thing.

“No, I’m not drunk.” Five answered, trying not to sound defensive. A little hungover maybe, but not drunk. “I’m working.”

_“MeriTech? Is this about the eye thing still?”_

“Yes, it’s about the eye thing.” He said, looking at her. “This is the place it was made. Or – will be made.” He sighed. “We just have to wait.”

It was her turn to sigh, and after a moment she asked, _“for how long?_ ”

“As long as it takes.”


	14. Episode 3 - Leonard’s Shop (POV Vanya)

Leaving the Icarus, Vanya decided to walk home instead of taking the bus. It would be a long walk, but the conversation with Helen had left her feeling drained and pathetic. The medicine helped her drift above that, keeping her feet light. It encouraged her to enjoy the brisk air. And so, she did. She started to walk, but eventually she noticed that she wasn’t heading in the direction of her apartment.

Instead, her feet had carried her all the way to Bricktown. She paused, wondering why she’d do something like that. Then she remembered.

_Leonard._

He’d invited her to visit, but Bricktown was more than just a single stretch of road. She had no idea where his shop was or what it was even called. She sighed, then decided to walk down the main stretch. If she didn’t spot it there, she would simply head home. That seemed somewhere between giving this a fair attempt before risking a wander into the being-a-little-strange territory. As she walked, she glanced at the storefronts that she passed, and it wasn’t long before she saw a window filled with warm woods and inviting light. Wait. Was this it? Surely there couldn’t be more than one woodworking shop in the area, or?

She looked at the items on display and debated what to do next. This was stupid, she thought, coming here out of the blue. What was she doing? The shop wasn’t even open. She shook her head and turned to go, but as she did, she saw Leonard walking her way, carrying a coffee and some mail. A smile grew on his face as he spotted her and she stopped, at a loss for what to say.

“You’re still lookin’ for Mr. Puddles?” He asked with a kind tease, letting her off the hook of trying to start a conversation herself.

But of course, she wasn’t sure how to react to his joke either. Or maybe it wasn’t a joke? She struggled to think of a response. Should she be funny? Honest? Give an excuse? Just leave?

“I – I got out of rehearsal and was in the neighborhood, so I thought…” She motioned to his shop. “I—"

“Came all the way to Bricktown?” He filled in, and she gave a small shrug, knowing how stupid it must have sounded.

“Well, since you’re here.” He reached into his pocket. “You might as well come in.”

Leonard fished out a set of keys then unlocked the shop door.

Vanya knew she shouldn’t have come, but it was too late to leave without being rude, and if she was being honest, she didn’t hate the idea of having some company for a little while. Having somebody _want_ to talk to her was nice.

He held the door open for her as she neared, and she stepped past him, going inside, enveloped by orange light and the sweet smell of old wood mixed with a pungent hint of polish. Chairs and tables and cabinets stretched down along the narrow expanse to either side, so many items she wasn’t sure where to look first. It was impressive, and she wondered if he’d worked on every piece in the store at some point. He must have.

“These are beautiful.” She told him.

“Oh. Thank you.” He walked up behind her, then to the side so that they were separated by a row of his wares. “Restoration antiques.” He explained. “It’s my bread and butter.”

He set his coffee, keys, and mail down on a counter against the wall as she continued to look around.

“But I do play around with other things.” He added suddenly, as if she wouldn’t be impressed by him being a small business owner, aspiring violinist, _and_ a craftsman alone.

“Like what?” She asked, genuinely curious, relaxing a little in the comfort of the store as he glanced her way before pulling off his jacket.

“I don’t know. Uh… It’s kind of embarrassing.” He admitted, but when she didn’t comment or laugh, he seemed to decide she could be trusted. He nodded his head towards the back of the shop. “Come on.”

She followed as he led the way.

Leonard pulled a curtain aside to reveal a rear workshop, and she went in. There weren’t any grand pieces of furniture back here ready to be sold, but instead it was filled with worn shelves, and a workbench, each shelf lined with small, hand carved objects alongside crafting materials and tools. She saw posed figures captured in the wood, ducks, detailed faces with hats or smiles, their character shining through the chiseled cracks and crevices.

“You made all these?” She asked, amazed by his talent.

“When I was a kid,” he began, “my imagination was my escape. And _clearly_ , I never grew up.”

When she looked at him, he was smiling, the expression earnest and open, and waiting for criticism. She liked his smile, she decided. She liked the vulnerability he offered with it.

“No, it’s amazing.” She insisted. “Which one is your favorite?”

“Ballerina is kind of my best.” He pointed over to it with a humble shrug. “Or maybe the duck. Or the other duck. Or the _other_ duck.” He added with an embarrassed laugh.

She smiled, not sure how else to express that she was impressed with him. He seemed to sense her inability to say more, and so he went on.

“But there is one you should see.” He started, turning, then heading towards the worktable behind him.

He picked a small figurine up and carried it over to her. It looked like a long-haired woman playing a violin. There was a small flutter in her stomach as she noticed the details.

“Is that…?” She trailed off, not sure how to quite ask if the figure was who she thought it might be.

“Okay, so I might have stayed up last night making this.” He confessed, his features shifting with uncertainty.

“Wow.” She eyed it, fascinated by the tiny violin and the fact that he’d made it in a single evening. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” He said quietly, looking down at it. He looked up then and held it out to her. “Take it.”

“Oh. No. I—”

“I insist.” His voice was gentle. “Please. I made it for you.”

Vanya could feel the flutter in her stomach grow more insistent. She was touched by the sweet gesture and unsure of how to react to it. She took the figure from him though and held it in her hand, staring down at the tiny woman holding her violin as she played a silent song, frozen in time.

“You inspired me.” He told her, and when she glanced up, she saw a look she hadn’t found pointed her way in a very long time.

Her lips curled to match his and she looked back at the figurine, her cheeks growing warm.

“I’m sorry. I hope that wasn’t weird.”

Vanya almost laughed, happy to hear that she wasn’t the only one filled with self-doubt.

“Oh God, no. Not at all. I was worried it would be weird just showing up here like this.” She lifted the gift up for emphasis then. “This is great though. Really. It’s beautiful.”

“Good.”

They stared at one another, and Vanya knew she’d enjoy seeing him more. He was charming, had a kind face, and best of all he didn’t seem afraid to open himself emotionally; to be vulnerable. Aside from the brief moments with Five and Allison, both of whom were quick to show their cruelty or apathy with equal ease over the last several days, she’d had nothing but animosity or loneliness as a bedfellow for years. She’d done her therapy. She’d corrected her drug abuse. She’d gotten Third Chair which, while not the best, was nothing to scoff at either. She’d exercised her inner demons and become a published author. Maybe it was time to _finally_ let something good in. Helen’s rejection wasn’t the end of the world.

She had to think about some things; consider her wants.

First though, she thought as her cheeks grew warmer from their prolonged look, she needed to get home. She’d spent too long wandering the city, lost in her own head.

“Look—” She started.

“I was—” He said at the same time, and they both laughed. “You go ahead.” He offered.

“It’s just… I should really get going.” She said, wincing a little as his expression fell. “I was running late this morning, and I didn’t have any breakfast. Didn’t even have any coffee, so I’m feeling pretty beat. I just wanna get home and relax. Practice a little.”

“No worries! But do you think…” his lips drew thin in thought as he hesitated. “Would you mind if I walked you home?”

“Oh. No. Not at all!” She was flattered, the sensation bringing a pleasurable giddiness to her stomach. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He grinned, and she mirrored it.

The two of them left the store and headed towards her side of town, neither of them speaking right away. The wind carried a sting, but Vanya didn’t mind, her body hyper-aware of the man walking beside her. When she glanced at him, she found his eyes on her and she blushed.

“You know, I can’t remember the last time somebody walked me home.” She admitted, not adding that she was fairly certain it had never _actually_ happened before.

“Well I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I didn’t offer.” He looked pleased. “Besides, it’s a beautiful day out and the company’s good.”

They chatted about the weather for a while. About what they enjoyed doing when it was too cold to leave the house, and about their favorite cold-weather activities. Sitting by the fireplace and sipping hot chocolate was their agreed upon number one. Eventually the discussion circled back to his store when he mentioned how lovely the view was in the wintertime, and how he liked to dress the window up for the holidays.

“How long have you had it for?” She asked, adjusting her violin to the other shoulder.

“Want me to carry that for a while?”

“Oh. No. But thank you.”

“Okay. And hmm. I've had it for years now really. Too many to count. What about you? How long have you been playing the violin for?”

“Most of my life, but I started pretty late. I didn’t pick it up until I was around twelve.”

“Earlier than me.” He said with a small laugh. “And what about the orchestra? How long you been playing with them?”

“About five years now.”

“Oh wow. That’s great. I’ll have to come see a show sometime.”

“I’d like that.” They smiled at one another before crossing a street. “We have a concert soon actually. On the first.”

“I will definitely be there then. Bet it takes a lot of practice though. Eh?”

“You have no idea. I’ve got another rehearsal tomorrow in fact.”

“You get paid for those?”

“I do.”

“Do they pay well overall? Orchestras? Not sure I’ve ever thought about that before now.”

“Not well enough.” She answered with a chuckle. “But enough to get by.”

“Yeah, the shop’ll never made me rich or anything, but I’m comfortable. That’s all I really need.”

The conversation shifted into economics, but neither of them knew more beyond their general opinion on things. They agreed that money wasn’t everything though. As they went to cross another intersection, Vanya felt his hand brush against her back and her stomach flipped. Aside from the recent family hugs, she wasn’t sure when the last time was that she’d been touched. Once they were across, she felt herself walking just a _little_ closer to him.

They chatted briefly about family then. He was an only child. She told him she’d been adopted but had a sister and several brothers. He was impressed by the large family until she told him it wasn’t all that great in reality. She dreaded him asking anything more, but he seemed content with the answer and moved on to a new topic without hesitation.

“So do you play anything else?” He asked. “Other than the violin, I mean.”

“Oh. Uh. Well I dabbled with the guitar briefly. When I was younger.”

“Oh yeah? Guitars are so cool. Wish _that_ would have been my dad’s passion.” He said with a laugh. “But then again, I guess if it was, I wouldn’t have met you, so you know what? I take it back.”

Her cheeks heated at the comment and she turned her head to watch the street, fascinated by the amount of times he’d managed to make her blush already. The direct attention was invigorating, something she’d forgone since going through therapy and getting her life on track.

“So why’d you give it up?”

“Huh?” Her brain froze for a second, still caught on his compliment.

“The guitar.” He clarified. 

“Oh.” She swallowed as a small pain pricked at her.

She’d stopped because her world had fallen apart that year. Fallen apart for a second time. Ben had died. Diego had reverted to distant cruelty. Their haphazard attempt at a band, and something more, had been buried with their brother. Months later she’d asked Dad if she could leave, unable to stand being under the same roof as them anymore. But she couldn’t share any of that. Leonard didn’t know about those details of her life, about the Academy. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to know, at least not yet. It was nice not being hidden in their shadow, and so, she offered up a small shrug and shook her head.

“Just wasn’t for me.” She skirted the truth. “Didn’t feel right.”

He let her change the subject as she asked about his other interests, and they discussed hobbies for a while. They shared a love of books and old movies, and they laughed about how they could both enjoy a boring day inside either practicing for her, or whittling for him. He asked about whether she liked to play with the orchestra then, or if she wanted to do something else, and she found herself telling him about feeling unimportant among the ensemble. She summarized her conversation with Helen and expressed the doubt it gave her. He reassured her that the colleague was simply a snob, then shared an embarrassing story of his own, about one of his wood-working projects falling apart in a customer’s hand.

And then they were turning onto her street and passing by the butcher’s shop next to her front entrance.

“This is so bizarre.” She said, feeling brighter than she had in days. “We’ve known each other for… two days? I feel like you know me better than anyone in my family.”

He laughed, the sound sending shivers of delight through her.

“Hey.” He asked. “This might be a little inappropriate, seeing as I’m your impressionable young student, but would you want to have dinner with me tonight?” When she didn’t answer right away, too stunned by the offer to even realize what it was initially, he quickly continued. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah!” She said, a delayed response to the invitation.

“It’s fast.” He admitted at the same time.

“No!” She tried to answer more swiftly to avoid a misunderstanding “I—”

“I know, but—”

“I’d like that.” She squeezed her answer out at last, and the smile he gave her was bright and wonderful.

“Yeah?”

Vanya was about to say yes when she thought she saw her sister walking straight towards them. It felt unnatural, seeing her out in the real world on the street, and she didn’t understand. Was that really her? What was she _doing_ here?

“Allison?” She asked, unable to think of a single reason for why the woman might be here.

“Hey.” She answered back, closing the distance between them.

Leonard glanced between the two of them, and Vanya rushed to explain.

“Leonard, this is my sister, Allison.”

She hoped he wouldn’t recognize her. Prayed. But he gave Allison a long, thoughtful look, then seemed surprised by his sudden recognition. Vanya withered, knowing what would come next.

“Wait a second, I know you.” He pointed at her, a little excited. “You were in that movie! You’re in the movie, the uh – you were the – the lawyer. The tough one in the wheelchair, right?”

“Yeah.” Allison answered with a laugh, though whether she was happy about being recognized or not, Vanya couldn’t tell. “Yeah that was me.”

“You didn’t tell me your sister was a _movie star_.” Leonard said, looking back down to Vanya, and she nodded, less than thrilled about his enthusiasm.

Her perfect sister. The movie star. Stepping into the spotlight as usual.

“Wow!” He looked back to Allison. “You were in that Umbrella thing too, weren’t you?”

Allison’s mouth opened, but she said nothing, likely a little surprised that he’d linked her back to that so swiftly. Leonard looked at Vanya then, searching her face.

“But you weren’t in that, were you?” He asked with a curious frown, and that rotten seed her father’s death had unburied sprouted a vine that stretched for her heart.

“No. Uh. I was sort of the fifth Beatle of the family, so…” She stopped talking, hearing the tremor in her voice as their conversation deviated into territory she didn’t wish to explore.

She wanted this chat to end.

“I never really did like the Beatles.” Leonard said lightly, though whether it was to comfort her or not, she wasn’t sure. “More of a Stones guy, myself.”

Vanya tried to smile, but the growing happiness she’d been touched with a few minutes before had shriveled altogether.

“Um. I’m sorry to interrupt.” Allison interjected. “But uh… could you come back to the house? We’re having a family meeting.”

“And you guys _want_ me there?” Vanya asked, having a tough time believing that. She hadn’t been part of a _family_ meeting in over fifteen-years.

“Of course.” Allison answered as if it were an obvious thing, as if the rest of the Academy hadn’t excluded her from everything before that very moment.

Her sister and Leonard exchanged an awkward glance, and Vanya knew the inference had made her uncomfortable, especially since they had an audience to their dysfunction. She relished it, not at all pleased with this unsolicited intrusion. Sure, she was willing to make amends with her sister, but on her own terms.

“It’s about mom.” Allison added quickly, and Vanya felt like the universe was going out of its way to sabotage her.

While she might have been okay brushing off her sister, she couldn’t ignore Mom. Despite being absent from their childhood home long enough to develop a shield wrought strong from time and distance, there was still some affection there for the robotic caregiver. She couldn’t turn her back on that.

“I’m so sorry.” She said to Leonard. “I—”

“Oh, don’t be.” He offered up his usual good-natured grin, and she felt a little less awful about the disruption to their time together. “We’ll do a rain check on dinner.”

She nodded as he waved and turned to leave them with a quick ‘bye’.

“Thanks.” She called out, watching him go for a moment before turning back to her sister.

“Who’s the guy?” Allison asked, a note of intrigue in her voice.

“He’s a…” she wasn’t sure what he was yet, and so she went with the easiest. “Just a friend”

“Friend?’ Allison’s eyebrows rose with the question, and Vanya rolled her eyes at the immaturity.

“No, it’s not…” While she was slowly warming to the idea of opening up, she wasn’t sure she _wanted_ Allison to know more. She wasn’t _entirely_ over her hurtful comments, even if they didn’t fill her with anger anymore. “Maybe I’m just trying to not separate myself, from everything and everyone.” She finished, unable to resist bringing it back up.

Allison’s eyes fell and her teasing smile dropped.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” She said, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you yesterday. I was angry with Patrick, and I – I took it out on you. I’m really sorry. I’m uh – I’m not good at this whole _sister_ thing.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Vanya answered, mimicking her conductor and not sure if she meant her reply to sound lighthearted or mean. Maybe it could be both.

“Ouch.” Allison said, grasping at the former, the corner of her lip curling up hopefully. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“Maybe I will.” Vanya said, letting hers do the same because it was easier than fighting.

Allison laughed.

“Okay.” She said as Vanya fell in step beside her. “That’s fair. Oh, I’m parked over there.” She pointed to the black car sitting on the curb.

“Dad’s car?” Vanya asked, but she could already see that it was as they approached the doors.

“Mm-hmm.”

They climbed into the car together, but they barely talked on the way home, their moment too new and too fragile to last longer. Allison turned the radio on instead as their silence persisted, and the two of them listened to music together while Vanya wondered what waited for them back at their childhood home.


	15. Episode 3 - Stakeout Continued (POV Five)

As the sun began to set, Five rolled the glass eye in his hand, watching the MeriTech entrance. He’d been intent on it all day, but the lab coat wearing son of a bitch had yet to make a reappearance. He hoped there wasn’t a back exit. Bored, impatient, and on edge, Five felt his gaze wander. A pretty blonde passed by the van, her hair and jacket streaming behind her. He watched her walk, a little envious that she had no idea the world was ending soon.

She’d be dead if he couldn’t stop it.

Laughter pulled his attention away from her, and his jaw clenched as he watched a group of children playing in the street. They’d be dead too. He couldn’t stop the intrusive remark from whispering in the back of his head. He hadn’t heard kids laugh like that in a long time, not since he’d been one himself. It might’ve been a nice sound, but he couldn’t keep away the thought, the _knowledge_ , that their laughter would be silent in a week if he failed.

Failure couldn’t be an option…

He tensed as fingers of memory skittered across his shoulders. He was too tired, too stressed to fight them off, and that’s when the ash began to fall from the sky. He could smell it. Singed skin and burning fuel. Swallowing down the caustic flavor on his tongue, Five blinked, trying to dispel the fractured world sprawling around him. But he couldn’t. _No!_ He was stumbling across the ruins again as the dead called out to him, alone and tired and hungry and afraid, and he howled. Horrified of the hellish landscape and the years he would be trapped here. He’d failed, he’d—

“Five!” A voice reached out to him, and Five turned to face it, panting, finding his brother.

“What…” He started, confused, but when he blinked again the apocalypse was gone and he was back in the van, away from the hot ash and the stink of death and decay.

“Shit.” Luther muttered, trying to squeeze into the van, completely unaware of the breakdown that had transpired in the driver’s seat.

As Five’s disorientation cleared, he slipped the prosthetic eye back into his pocket, his lips twitching, wanting to devolve into a relieved grin that he knew could grow hysteric if he let it.

“Oh my –” Luther grunted in frustration, pushing his way in through an opening barely large enough to fit his frame.

He slammed the door once he was in, and the two stared at one another as he caught his breath.

“You okay?” He asked as Five managed to push down the last vestiges of his _episode._

“You shouldn’t be—” he started, but then he _really_ remembered where they were and had a more pressing question. “How did you _find_ me?”

“Um.” Luther nudged his head towards the back of the van, and Five craned around.

His mind went blank with brief astonishment. Klaus was in the back of the van. His arms were wrapped around Delores, her hand in his, and he adopted a startled expression as he paused from whispering sweet nothings at her to meet their stares. Five was all at once confused and stunned and furious. How dare he touch her? How’d he even get in? _When_ did he get in?

“Hey, a little privacy guys!” Klaus whined. “We’re really hitting it off back here.”

His hand moved up to fondle Delores and Five saw red, reaching for the first thing he could grab. He pelted Klaus with a bottle of painkillers, his brother raising his arm up in defense as he laughed through the small assault.

“Get out! You can’t be here!” Five snarled, realizing a second later that they might read into his overreaction and added, “I’m in the middle of something.”

He leaned back into his chair as Klaus unhanded Delores and crawled forward to them.

“Any luck finding your one-eyed man?” He asked with a wink.

“No.” Five hissed in a whisper, annoyed that it was being brought up in front of Luther.

“What’s he talking about?” Their brother asked, predictably.

“Does it matter?” Five asked, hoping he’d drop it. “It’s Klaus.” He sighed, ignoring the disenfranchised look Number Four wore at the insinuation. “What do you want Luther?”

“Um. So, Grace may have had something to do with Dad’s death.”

 _Grace what—? No!_ He wasn’t getting drawn into this bullshit. It wasn’t important. None of that was.

“So I need you to come back to the academy, all right?” Luther continued. “It’s important.”

What a joke. Dad’s death was the _least_ important thing going on, and Five was fed up with the family drama. He was trying to save the world here! Their lack of clarity was breathtaking.

“’It’s important.’” Five repeated, mocking his brother. “You have no _concept_ of what’s important.”

“Hey!” Klaus interrupted, drawing their gazes. “Did I ever tell you guys…” Oh no. Five tried to tune him out, checking the MeriTech building instead to make sure LabCoat hadn’t wandered out. He recognized a distraction when he saw one. “…with chocolate pudding?” His brother finished, letting out a peel of laughter that Five tried not to find amusing.

It had been so long…

He shook his head and looked out the window. Nope.

“It’s not…” he whispered under his breath. _It’s not funny_. He refused to let Klaus see any sign of victory.

“It was so painful!” Klaus went on with a wide grin, and Five snickered in spite of himself.

_Son of a bitch._

Number Four rarely failed at pulling out a laugh from Five when he tried, even when they’d been children and the risk of punishment was involved. It had to be stress-induced delirium, Five decided. That was it. There was too much at stake for him to find another stupid Klaus story funny otherwise. “Ay, yai, yai.” He muttered, disappointed and tired and hungry and _really_ wishing that he didn’t love his family as much as he did because they were an incredible distraction.

“What are you still doing here?” Luther asked while Five collected himself.

“I – what? I need an excuse to hang out with my family?” Klaus asked, clearly not pleased that his diversionary tactics were being repelled.

“Well no – it’s – we’re trying to have a serious conversation.” Luther answered calmly.

“What, and I’m incapable of being serious? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Luther’s got a point.” Five said, feeling composed enough to speak and eager to get Klaus out of the van before he could lose focus again. “You should get out.”

“What!”

Five nodded toward the door and lifted his eyebrows, hoping Klaus would listen and ignoring the displeased look on his brother’s face. But he did listen. Throwing on a pout, Number Four grumbled and worked his way out of the van.

“Fine!” He yelled at them, indignant, before slamming the door shut and stomping off.

“What the hell are you up to Five?” Luther asked in the fresh silence, as if he had a right to know.

“Believe me. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. Last I checked, I’m still the leader of this family.”

_For fuck’s sake._

“Well last I checked, I’m 28 years older than you.” Five retorted, his brother only reaffirming his initial decision to _not_ go to him in the first place.

He never liked the _leader_ schtick Number One had always wielded when they were kids. He didn’t like it now. There was a pregnant pause. Five hoped that would be the end of it.

“You know what your problem is?” Luther asked instead of leaving it at that.

_What a brat._

“Really hoping you’ll tell me.” Five sneered, wondering how anyone in a corduroy coat could be so fucking cocky.

“You think you’re better than us. You always have. Even when we were kids.”

Five clenched his jaw.

_Yeah. And?_

“But the truth is, you’re just as messed up as the rest of us.” Luther continued, ignoring Five’s heated glare. “We’re all you have. And you know it.”

He was too pissed and frustrated to acknowledge that he might have agreed with that observation any other time. Right now though, right now he had a family of morons to save and he didn’t have the time or energy for sentimentalities or rolling over and showing his belly to the Academy’s proclaimed, yet hardly qualified, leader.

“I don’t _think_ that I’m better than you, Number One.” Five growled, remembering how often their father made him submit to Luther’s judgement, even when he knew he was wrong. “I _know_ I am.”

Luther let out a humorless laugh, but Five was undeterred.

“I’ve done unimaginable things.” He went on. “Things you couldn’t even comprehend.”

“Right.”

“Just to get back here and save you all.” Five continued with a little less hostility, reminding himself of what this was all for.

Why the hell couldn’t they just leave him alone and let him save their asses?

Before Luther could share whatever _profound_ response he might have come up with, their conversation was interrupted by Klaus sprinting past the van, his arms spilling over with snack food that left a trail down the road behind him.

“Hey bitches!” He yelled their way as a whistle screamed behind him, somebody chasing after.

“You!” The guy behind Klaus yelled as they crossed into the intersection, a taxi swerving sideways as Klaus cut it off. “Get back here!”

Their brother clipped the side of the cab, most of his load falling loose.

“Out of the way asshole!” Klaus snarled as he bounced off the side and struggled for balance.

The two watched their brother escape down the block, and Five felt a bone-weary sense of exhaustion.

“Though I’m starting to wonder if that was the wisest decision.” He tacked onto his previous statement, watching as his brother disappeared beyond sight.

Neither of them spoke as Five stared out the window. When Luther finally took the hint, he sighed.

“Just come back to the Academy Five. We need to make a family decision, and like it or not, you’re part of the family.”

Five didn’t turn to watch his brother climb back out of the van, but when the door slammed behind him, he shook his head. Luther was right about at least one thing. He _was_ part of the family. And that… Well.

“That’s exactly why I can’t waste my time on nonsense.” He finished out loud, settling back into the driver’s seat.

“ _You could have been more tactful though._ ” Delores commented from behind.

Five scoffed.

“And what would that have accomplished?”

But Delores didn’t have an answer.


	16. Episode 3 - Questioning Grace

The sun was low in the sky by the time Number Seven and Number Three pulled Dad’s car into the alley.

Allison considered saying something cute like, ‘we’re here,’ but when she looked over at Vanya and didn’t receive an encouraging acknowledgement, the idea fizzled. Instead she sighed, hiding her uncertainty, and climbed out of the car.

They walked to the front entrance together, a noticeable barrier of silence hanging between them. Or at least Allison found it noticeable. She couldn’t tell at all how her sister felt. They’d spoken little since leaving Leonard behind, and she had no idea how to break the quiet in any natural way, an issue she always seemed to have around Vanya, even when they’d been children. She never could get the hang of communicating with her, her sister’s stunted reactions and muted expressions impossible to read, and even more impossible to navigate.

When Allison had told Pogo that neither of them knew shit about the other, it hadn’t been an exaggeration in the least. In fact, she hadn’t even known her own sister’s address and had to ask the aging great ape if he had it available. The two had, all at once, everything to talk about and nothing, and so they both seemed to settle on the latter.

Allison couldn’t bring herself to say more about Mom either, and she was glad that Vanya hadn’t ask her any questions on the topic. The thought of debating with her whether their mother was a killer, especially without Luther’s support on the issue, seemed a herculean task that was exhausting enough in abstract alone. Besides the inevitable disbelief, she knew that her sister had been close with Mom, and even if it was immature, she didn’t want to be the one to break this awful news. Nobody tended to like those who bore unwelcome tidings, and Allison happened to want her sister – wanted everyone, if she was being honest – to like her, even if she couldn’t figure out how to accomplish that feat.

Their lack of further discussion about Mom only managed to make Vanya nervous and reticent with unease. She couldn’t help but think back to the way their mother had acted on the day of Dad’s memorial service. She’d been distant. Unaware. Maybe she had a virus of some kind? She had no idea if robots could get sick, but surely if they could, Pogo could find a fix for it. She couldn’t bring herself to ask Allison this however, worried that she might sound foolish for not knowing about these things already. And so, she kept quiet, letting her sister lead them into the parlor.

Diego was already there.

He looked up at them from the couch and tensed, his hand giving a little twitch as it wished for the comforting heft of a knife. He’d known that Allison was going to pick up Vanya, but knowing that didn’t make the sight of her any easier to bear. The way she’d confronted his actions at the memorial continued to gnaw at him, and it reminded him of how deep her own hypocrisy and betrayal ran. He would never physically harm her, but in lieu of that, he wanted to cut her emotionally. He wanted her to hurt the way he did. Five fucking years and she never bothered to apologize, not once.

She froze at the door when he pinned her with his stare, and he made no attempt to hide his contempt. Let her see it. Let her taste what it’s like to have somebody who’s _supposed_ to care about you show something so ugly to the world. If she took one more step, he would leave, and he wanted her to know that, to know that he couldn’t stand to be around her.

And Vanya, for all her inability to read most social situations accurately, knew Diego’s face intimately enough to understand exactly what he wanted her to see. She’d grown up learning to read those lines and so she stood in the doorway, crossed her arms, and remained firmly on the other side of the threshold. Seeing him look at her that way was painful enough. Watching him walk away would only make it worse.

Instead of keeping his gaze, Vanya’s eyes followed Allison, and that’s when she spotted the television and VCR sitting at the bar counter. She frowned. The machines looked so out of place among the room’s opulence, and she couldn’t help but wonder why they were there.

“You coming?” Allison asked as she rounded the bar to pour a drink.

She didn’t think Vanya would partake, but Allison knew it would be rude not to offer anyway.

“Is everyone here already?” Vanya asked, her eyes darting between the two of them.

“Luther and Klaus went to get Five.” Allison reached for a bottle of whiskey.

“I… Um. I’m gonna get a glass of water.” Vanya said, making an excuse to leave, and she was out of sight before her sister could respond.

She walked down to the basement kitchen and set her violin, along with the gift from Leonard, onto the brown leather couch, then grabbed a glass from the cabinet. She wasn’t thirsty, but she didn’t want to get caught in a lie either. She’d never be able to think of another excuse fast enough to keep things from getting awkward. After filling it at the sink she sat beside her possessions, the worn material groaning quietly underneath her.

Her eyes wandered the room, taking in all the familiar fixtures, and there were many. In fact, she noticed with a slow pan across, the space hadn’t changed at all, even after all these years. She’d been too entranced by Five’s return to notice that when she was down here before. That had been her first visit after more than a decade away, and all she could focus on was him. Then again, she considered, it had been even longer than that since she’d seen _him_ last, so that was probably understandable.

It didn’t take long to notice the guitar, sitting in its stand, almost within arm’s reach. Funny that it should make an appearance; almost as if her talking about it had conjured the cursed thing. She wished it were anywhere else… She could still remember the weight of it. The joy it had brought her. The beautiful, raw music torn from its strings. The way Ben had cheered their performance from the corner. The sound of Diego smashing his against the tree in the courtyard after their brother had been buried. The way he’d exploded when he’d caught her playing it by herself.

 _“Six is gone Vanya! He’s fucking gone!_ ”

Neither of them had touched a guitar since that day, so far as she knew, and she wasn’t about to break that silent agreement.

Instead, Vanya let her mind drift as she waited for the others to get home.

Allison came down to find her after Luther and Klaus had returned without their younger brother in tow. That figured. Five had never been the easiest to work with, and she doubted that would have changed no matter how many years, if any, had passed for him. She’d always known he was smarter than her – of course she would never admit that to him – but his ability to be part of a team had always been questionable, at best. As far as she was concerned though, his tall-tale of being fifty-eight was just that. Either the boy was suffering temporal psychosis – or whatever Dad had called it – or he was playing some kind of sick game on them all. Whatever the case, she wasn’t a fan.

When she stepped into the basement kitchen, Allison found Vanya on the couch, her face lax and her eyes unfocused. It was unsettling, to say the least, but it was far from the first time she’d found her sister staring into space and seemingly dead to the world. She cleared her throat first, and when that didn’t work, she took a step closer and spoke.

“Vanya?”

Her sister perked up and faced her.

“They’re back. We’re having the meeting in Dad’s lounge. You coming?”

“Uh. Yeah.” She stood, then walked her glass to the sink.

Allison waited for her, watching as Vanya glanced at her violin case on the couch, trying to decide whether to bring it with or not. After a moment’s hesitation she chose to leave them there and they left the kitchen together.

“And surprise, surprise.” Allison said with a sigh as they climbed the stairs. “Five wouldn’t come.”

She was as glad to have him back as any of them Allison considered, but the others seemed to put some weight to his claim of being older and wiser. It felt a _little_ good to be proven right, her own theory that he was the same little asshole more valid than ever.

“Oh. Why not?” Allison glanced at Vanya and wondered if that was disappointment she heard.

She honestly couldn’t recall if the two had been close as children, but after two decades separation she supposed it didn’t matter much. When they were very young, Vanya had always tried to encourage everyone to get along and do group activities together. Allison decided her sister probably wanted the same thing these days, since the opportunity was available once more.

“Luther didn’t say. Just Five being Five, I guess. Are you surprised?”

Vanya shrugged. She wasn’t sure _what_ to think about the boy who’d returned to them. She wanted him to be the Five they all remembered, but there was a new hardness to him that she didn’t understand. It worried her, but she had no idea what to do about it.

Once they were all together in the parlor and circled around the television, Luther made his way to the screen and passed a slow look across them. This wasn’t a task he relished, but they deserved to know the truth, and he would never shun the duty to provide that. He cleared his throat, then laid a hand atop the VCR.

“This video; Allison found it in Dad’s surveillance room. It’s a recording of the night that he died, and I think,” he paused, meeting her eyes, gathering strength from them, before continuing, “ _we_ think, that Grace might have been responsible. That she might have killed him.”

“What?” Vanya asked before she could stop herself, not certain she’d heard him correctly.

“What?” Diego’s voice rang out at the same time, fury flaring to life inside of him with such intensity that his hand plucked out a knife without him even realizing.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Klaus said as he tore open a bag of chips. “I thought one of _us_ killed Dad?”

At least, he was _pretty_ sure that had been the accusation. He’d admittedly been high during the memorial, but he was sure he’d remembered that much.

“Something, something, grudges and monocles?” He added, grasping for the memory.

“That’s not helpful.” Ben commented, shaking his head, but Klaus ignored him. “We should hear him out.”

“Yeah, _Number One_ , whatever happened to _that_ little theory?” Diego leapt onto the lifeboat his brother had provided, unable to tolerate the idea of anyone blaming Mom for _anything_.

“Yeah. Well.” Luther didn’t appreciate the reminder, a little ashamed of his previous assessment despite having ample cause for it. “There’s new evidence, and it’s fairly clear what happened.”

“Let’s see it then.” Diego said, waving a knife in the air towards the television like a pointer, eager to shoot down whatever _evidence_ his brother had for them.

He wasn’t certain what the footage would show, but whatever it was, he knew Luther had taken it out of context, too rabid to be on another mission to make up for his failure of a life.

Shaking off the initial stupor of hearing Luther accuse Mom of murder, Vanya blanched at the idea of watching their father die. It was _not_ something she’d been at all prepared to do. She slipped a hand into her pocket and rested it on her medication, debating whether to take one or wait until she physically needed it. She’d only ever seen one person die, and it was horrific enough that the thought of doing so again made her lightheaded.

“It’s not graphic, is it?” She asked, glancing between her siblings, unable to fathom any version of events that could lead to their Mom hurting their Dad.

Klaus sure hoped it was.

Allison shook her head, having forgot that their sister never got the same training they had.

“It’s not, but… Are you okay to watch it?”

Vanya could feel everyone’s eyes on her, and she knew that they were judging her. Judging her weakness. Swallowing, she nodded her head, determined to sit through the footage if only to prove she could. Luther hit play, and they all watched it in silence, save for the sound of Klaus crunching on potato chips behind them.

He was _really_ looking forward to the show.

Ben was not.

The footage was grainy and tinged green, but there was no mistaking their mother as she stood in Dad’s bedroom. Their father was already in bed, notebooks scattered to the side, a pencil loose in his hand, a magnifying glass resting close by. He seemed to have fallen asleep mid-study, his body propped back against the pillow. Their mother drew near, then bent over his form. She reached for him, seemed to touch him, then pulled her hand back and stood. She picked up a bowl from the nightstand next, and it was then that their father woke.

He gave a shudder, and then clutched at his mid-section with one hand, his other reaching out to Mom before his body convulsed and fell sideways onto the bed. He grew still. Their mother watched, motionless and stoic. She made no move to assist.

Vanya’s mouth was dry, and she wished that she’d brought up her glass from the kitchen. It was difficult to swallow, both literally and figuratively. Their mother didn’t try to resuscitate Dad as he lay there. Instead, she turned from his prone form and left the room. It made no sense. How could she just—

“We – _I_ – think she poisoned him.” Luther said as their mother left Dad’s room, leaving the unmoving body their sole focus. “When she leaned down. She must have injected him with something. Something that could cause a heart attack.”

“No—” Diego refused to accept that, but before he could argue his brother spoke from behind.

“Oh play it again!” Klaus called out. “I missed the good part.”

“Really?” Ben asked, unbelieving, his arms crossed as he contemplated the video. He didn’t like the idea of their mother doing nothing to help Dad. It made him nervous.

Klaus flashed him a grin. He hadn’t missed it, but he didn’t think the fam would take too kindly to him admitting that he wanted to see dear old Dad seize up a second time. There was morbid pleasure to be found in the bastard’s final miserable moments, and Klaus wasn’t about to let _this_ memory slip through his fingers. His ass was half-way sober and ready to remember this little joy for years to come.

To be fair, nobody _had_ to ask what the good part was. Diego certainly didn’t need to. He hoped it was painful but set that aside so that he could watch the scene more closely, unconvinced that his Mom could ever be capable of such heinousness. No matter how damning it might look, there was no way she would ever hurt any of them, even if their father deserved it a thousand times over.

Luther sighed and rewound the tape, then hit play. He and Allison had watched it ad nauseum, so he couldn’t begrudge his other siblings the same, even if they weren’t compelled by the same motivation. They viewed it once more, and as their mother turned from their father’s body, Vanya decided to speak up before Klaus could ask for another viewing. She wasn’t sure she could stand to see it a third time.

“I mean, do you really think Mom would hurt Dad?” She asked, looking up at Luther. Even after watching the video she couldn’t believe it.

“You haven’t been home in a long time, Vanya.” He answered, trying not to sound as waspish about it as he might have felt. None of them had. They’d all left him behind. “Maybe you don’t know Grace anymore.”

While Vanya knew he might have been right, Diego couldn’t be silent any longer. _He_ wouldn’t give up on Mom so fast.

“If he was _poisoned_ ,” he argued. “It would have shown on the coroner’s report.” He finished the statement in a condescending sing-song voice, cutting sarcasm the only thing holding him back from stabbing his brother instead.

“Yeah, well I don’t need a report to tell me what I can see with my own eyes.” Luther argued back, unsure how any of them could ignore proof that was plain as day.

“Maybe all that low gravity in space messed with your vision.” Diego suggested with an edge, clicking a button on the VCR to rewind the tape again. “Look closer. Dad has his monocle. Mom stands up. Monocle’s gone.”

“That doesn’t prove she _didn’t_ poison them.” Ben said to no one.

“Oh yeah!” Klaus laughed in agreement with Diego, pointedly ignoring his ghostly shadow, motioning at the screen as he finally paid attention to more than Dad’s last uncomfortable seconds of life. Case closed liebe Brüder. Maybe with that settled Luther wouldn’t be such a sourpuss about him pawning more of Dad’s crap.

“She wasn’t poisoning him.” Diego reasoned, walking away from the television and Luther, smug with the case he was about to make. “She was taking it. To clean it.”

“Still doesn’t prove anything.” Ben talked at his family, desperately wishing he could be part of the conversation and forever frustrated with the one person who _could_ be his mouthpiece but wouldn’t.

While Klaus thought the situation resolved, meandering to the back of the bar for a celebratory drink, Vanya could sense the tension growing in the room and hoped it wouldn’t lead to violence. She didn’t always pick up on things, but she had witnessed her brothers fighting enough to know the warning signs, her discomfort rising with it.

“Then where is it?” Luther questioned, and when no one rushed to answer, he went on. “No. I’ve searched the house, including all her things. She doesn’t have it.”

The stretch of silence that followed was taut, and Diego knew he couldn’t keep his little secret any longer, not if he wanted Luther to drop the damn issue already.

“That’s because I took it from her.” He confessed, hoping to cut the tension in half. “After the funeral.”

Vanya stared at him, unsurprised, the others aside from Klaus – who didn’t care – less so.

“You’ve had the monocle this whole time?” Allison asked, incredulous. “What the _hell_ Diego?”

“Damn.” Ben shook his head, impressed at Diego’s deception.

“Give it to me.” Luther demanded.

“I threw it away.”

“You _what_?” Luther took a step forward.

 _Oh no_ , Vanya thought while Allison merely scoffed in disbelief, taking a sip of her drink. Diego deserved a good punch, but even if he hadn’t, she refused to step between them. Let them duke it out if they needed to ‘cause stopping them wasn’t _her_ job. It was a habit adopted at an early age, out of necessity and defiance. She would _not_ be made peacekeeper just because she was the only girl in the group, and she’d been adamant about her standing on the issue for as long as she could remember. If they wanted to be brutes, that was on them.

“Look, I knew that if you found it on Mom, you’d lose your shit. Just like you’re doing right now.”

“Diego, you son of a bitch.” Luther growled, and suddenly both men were ready to fight and the tension that had been in the room flooded into Vanya, waking the dormant mediator she always fled to when she needed their aggressions to end, when she couldn’t stand the overwhelming violence and anger.

“Hey. No. Calm down.” She held her hand up to block Luther, the idea of them fighting like they had at Dad’s memorial intolerable.

She stepped between them ever so slightly, grateful that neither was beyond reason. If they had _really_ wanted to fight, there would have been no way to stop them. With their attention on her though, she swallowed, ignoring the nervous knot inside of her. She had to say something else, something to dissipate their anger, and the only thing she could think of was her own confusion about what she’d witnessed in the security footage.

“Look, I know Dad wasn’t exactly an open book. But I do remember one thing he said. Mom was, well, _designed_ to be a caretaker, but… also as a protector.”

“What does that mean?” Allison asked, vaguely remembering that her sister must have spent a lot more time with Mom than any of the rest of them.

“She was programmed to intervene if someone’s life was in jeopardy.” Vanya explained, a little surprised nobody else seemed to know this.

 _Which means she_ couldn’t _have killed Dad, right?_ She didn’t want to blatantly argue, but she was convinced her reasoning stood.

“Well, if her hardware is degrading, then…” Luther paused, his eyes darting over to Allison. “We need to turn her off.”

 _That’s not what I—_ Vanya couldn’t even finish the thought as her brother burst in outrage.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait.” Diego interjected at a breakneck pace, his gut suddenly filled with ice. “She’s not just a vacuum cleaner you can throw in a closet! She _feels_ things! I’ve _seen_ it!”

“She just stood there, Diego, and watched our father _die._ ”

“I’m with Luther.” Allison announced, knowing he would need the backup, and even if she didn’t feel as strongly as him, she would _always_ have his back.

“Surprise, surprise.” Diego snapped, parroting her earlier comment to Vanya as he glared over his shoulder at her, a tiny reminder that they’d spent so much time together as children.

“Shut up.” She shot back, struck by the sudden surety that they’d had this exact exchange decades ago, sans the murderous mother element.

Then Diego and Luther were both looking down at Vanya, both expecting her support, and she realized after a moment too long that they were waiting for her to announce where her own loyalties lay. She hadn’t been ready for that unexpected pressure, and her tongue sat heavy as she struggled to speak.

“I – I don’t—”

“Yeah, she shouldn’t get a vote.” Diego interrupted, waving her off and turning to look at Klaus instead.

“I was gonna say that I _agree_ with you.” Vanya managed to force out before anyone else could speak.

“Okay!” Diego said flippantly, only caring about the numbers that supported Mom and not where they came from. He could bury the hatchet temporarily for this. “She should get a vote.” He looked at Klaus next and pointed. “What about you, stoner boy? What do you got?”

“Oh, so, what? You need _my_ help now?” Klaus threw a hard look at Luther, his diminishing high making him feel a little less tolerable towards his brother’s injustices. “Oh, ‘get out of the van, Klaus!’” He imitated, still salty about getting the boot because suddenly he wasn’t _convenient_. “‘Well, welcome back _to_ the van!’”

Yeah, he decided, Luther and Five could take that convenience and shove it. He never even got the twenty bucks he was promised!

“What van?” Allison asked, confused.

Luther scoffed at his brother’s ridiculousness but didn’t answer, not entirely sure what Five was up to himself and unwilling to delve into it right then, instead throwing out his own question.

“What’s it gonna be, Klaus?”

“I’m with Diego,” he answered, face scrunching with resentment, “because _screw_ you!”

“Real mature.” Ben rolled his eyes.

“And if Ben were here,” Klaus went on, staunchly refusing to acknowledge his dead brother. “He’d agree with me.”

“No, I don’t.” Ben replied, staring at his brother. “Keeping her could be dangerous and—"

Vanya watched as Klaus looked off to the side then and hissed at the air. She considered looking over her shoulder to try and spot what he saw, but she knew that whatever he was looking at, if it was anything at all, wouldn’t be visible to her regardless.

“So that’s three?” Diego asked, holding up his fingers to show their count as the steel grip twisting his guts loosened a little.

“Wait.” Luther interjected.

“To two.” Diego went on, holding up two more fingers on his other hand in triumph. Mom was safe.

“Vote’s not final yet.” Allison reminded him.

“What?” Diego glanced at her.

“Five’s not here.” She continued, caring less about the boy’s vote and more about the safety of those living under the same roof as their mother. “The whole family has to vote. We owe each other that.”

“Right.” Luther agreed.

Vanya did too. She knew it wouldn’t be right to leave Five out. She wouldn’t have appreciated it herself and couldn’t justify doing it to anyone else, and so she voiced as much.

“No, we _should_ wait.” She added in agreement, hating the expression that grew on Diego’s face at her apparent betrayal.

A mountain of gloom overshadowed Diego as Mom’s fate became uncertain once more. He was scared for her. Terrified. As his siblings left the room, all but Vanya, he couldn’t help but look her way, his terror at the possibility of losing Mom bulldozing across his defenses. How could she not fight harder for their mother? How could she be okay with this happening? His heart was broken, and he had nobody to help gather the fragments.

Diego’s pain stabbed at Vanya when his eyes shifted to hers. His face was vulnerable, child-like, frightened and unsure of the future. It was a face she hadn’t seen in a very long time, and one she wasn’t meant to see now, but he couldn’t control it. He didn’t seem to know where to look once they were alone, so when he turned and spotted their mother, he jumped at the opportunity to escape.

He joined Mom near the parlor entrance, and Vanya followed, pulled by his grief and her love for him, for them both. She didn’t want to be disloyal, she agreed with him, she did, but Five _deserved_ a say. It was _his_ mother’s fate too.

“Hey.” Diego called to Mom, his voice soft, fearful that she’d heard the entire conversation.

Would he be able to console her if she’d heard how half her kids were okay with killing her? She was looking elsewhere though, her gaze lost. She was unaware of what had transpired between her children, he realized. Diego set a hand against her shoulder, his chest tight with a pent-up urge to climb into her arms and sob.

“How long you been here?” He asked.

She looked at him then, reading his face and seeing what he’d inadvertently shown Vanya already.

“You all seem upset.” Grace determined after analyzing the lines of worry, a bright smile blossoming where nothing had been before. Her little boy needed to be cheered up. “I’ll make cookies.”

Their mother turned and strode away with purpose, and Vanya stayed behind Diego as they watched her head for the kitchen. Now that they were questioning Mom’s goodness, her _sentience_ , there was a sinister question resting on her lips, one she needed to ask, one she’d held inside for decades, and he was the only one she could pose it to. Nobody had been closer to Mom than them, him maybe most of all. She was ashamed of her doubt and hoped he might banish it, but a small part of her, the vindictive part, hoped he would share it with her instead, that he would feel the same burdensome discomfort.

“Do you ever wonder…” She started, drawing his attention. “All those moments with Mom, the things she said. Like, was it her, or was it really Dad?”

Diego turned, looming over her, his gaze intense as he leaned in.

“What are you talking about?” His voice was low, and Vanya knew he felt the same as her, that this wasn’t a conversation to be shared outside the two of them.

The others wouldn’t – couldn’t – understand. She didn’t think they’d ever considered Grace as much of a mother as they had, and this doubt had only been born after Five’s disappearance, after Mom had shown no sadness or worry over the loss. It had grown over the following years and then reached its peak after Ben had passed. Another child gone, and she’d been unaffected, making cookies with the same old smile while they cried.

“Well. He built her. And he programmed her to be a mom, to be _our_ mom.” She let the words sink in and he nodded, and then she shared the ugly thought, hiding her hands inside her pockets to feel the comfort of her pill bottle. “Sometimes when I look at her, I just see _him_.”

“Maybe that was true at first.” Diego disagreed, but there was no heat in his voice, none of the hostility that had been present over the last several days. Mom was more important than their petty differences and he couldn’t stand for Vanya to think such a thing. “But she evolved.”

“Well, how do you know?” She asked, genuinely wanting an answer to allay her misgivings.

“Because Dad only loved himself.” Diego stated with a knowing smirk because it was the most obvious answer. Dad could never program love because he was _incapable_ of it.

And then he walked away, leaving Vanya to her thoughts, needing some space to think and breathe and put his defenses back up. He felt naked and vulnerable, stripped bare by his worry over what would happen to Mom. He didn’t understand how any of them, Vanya specifically, could think that their mother wasn’t _real_ and couldn’t feel things. As he walked upstairs to his room, he could hear her patient coaching as she talked him through a speech impediment his bastard of a father had created and exacerbated. Mom had never grown exasperated with him, she’d never been frustrated by his slow progress, and she had never judged him for developing it in the first place.

 _“Be quiet, Number Two!”_ He could hear Dad’s shout. _“Number One will have the answer._ ”

 _“Remember Diego._ ” His mother’s voice broke through. _“Just picture the word in your mind._ ”

“Fuck you, Dad.” He said after picturing it with a flash of fury, his mother’s glow of pride washing through him and leaving behind a residue of sorrow.

They wanted to turn her off…

As Diego marched to his room, Vanya stayed standing in the parlor doorway.

He hadn’t been wrong, she decided, at least about their father.

No matter what Pogo tried to tell them, Reginald Hargreeves had not loved them. And if he had, if this was _his_ version of love, then she shuddered to think how he might treat those he hates. It didn’t remove her misgivings about Mom though. Even today, she was sure their mother would shower Dad with flattery and praises if given the chance, his death holding no clout over her programing. Vanya wanted to be wrong, but she didn’t think she was. _Did_ Mom really love them, or was every action and smile and hug only a program running its course?

As much as she was loath to accept it, Vanya knew it was latter. Being away for so long gave her that clarity, and accepting this, there was a sense of loss and finality, like Mom had truly been given a death sentence in that room only a few minutes prior. The idea of a person that she’d clung to as a child, of a mother who loved them and cared for them and ran counterintuitive to Dad’s program was gone. She felt the urge to cry.

The day had been too long, and these ruminations were more than she could handle. God, had it really only been three days since Dad’s memorial? So much had happened since.

Unable to stomach the unease chewing at her insides or the battle of emotion in her head and soul, both wracked with fresh guilt and deep-rooted sadness, Vanya pulled the bottle out of her pocket. She knew her evening pill wasn’t far off, and she reconsidered for half a second, but the idea of waiting more than an hour to find peace made her want to scream. She dumped a pill into her palm, then swallowed it dry.

She looked at the front door.

If she called for a cab it would get here within the next ten to fifteen minutes, but Vanya wasn’t quite ready to leave yet. With her mind circling Mom, soaked in remorse and fretting that she might _truly_ lose a second parent here soon, she had a compulsion to visit one of the places they’d spent many hours at together. Letting the impulse take her, Vanya headed up the stairs and into the labyrinth of hallways beyond.

As she made her way up to the roof to reminisce about her mother, Diego sat on the edge of his bed doing the same, but without warning, and beyond his control, his sister’s words crept in to contaminate the act.

_“…was it her, or was it really Dad?”_

He flinched at the consideration, hating that a part of him allowed her to plant a kernel of doubt.

_“Sometimes when I look at her, I just see him.”_

Lip curling in a defiant snarl, Diego stood and let his feet guide him down to Mom’s painted corner. He would silence Vanya’s voice once and for all, pissed that he was even letting it take him this far. The last of the sunlight was streaming in through the windows, lighting up his Mother in a way that made Diego hesitate. She was humming softly to herself and looked serene, ethereal. The idea of disrupting that with doubts seemed wrong somehow.

_“…was it really Dad?”_

But he’d never get her out of his head otherwise.

Spurred on by Vanya’s words, he forced himself forward, looking up at the many paintings his Mom surrounded herself with. Or had the paintings been there first? He wasn’t entirely sure. He wondered if knowing that would make a difference somehow.

“Mom, we need to talk.”

“Okay.” She answered, her tone as pleasant as ever. “But only for a minute. I need to finish this cross-stitch.”

Who did she cross-stitch for? The question came unbidden, and Diego followed it with a real one.

“Everything you did for us when we were kids… for me… why’d you do it?”

She paused her stitching and looked at him with a tender smile.

“Because being your mother is the greatest gift of my life.”

And god did Diego want to believe that. The way she said it though… He took a step closer and leaned down, searching her eyes and her face for a truth that extended beyond codes and wires.

“Is that you saying that?” He asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Diego.”

“I mean our father, he… made you. When you think something, is it like he’s telling you what to say?”

“Your father isn’t here, silly.” She said with a sudden grin, as if the question were the most foolish thing she’d ever heard. He didn’t know how to respond to that. “Did I do something wrong?” She asked when the silence had gone on for too long.

“No. It’s… It’s not…” He could feel his voice try to escape him as he struggled with how to explain his anxiety to her. “It’s okay…” He tried again, crouching down beside her. “If you hated him. He was terrible to you. To all of us.”

“Don’t say that.” She told him, not unkindly, but not without resolve either.

“Why not? We were just tools in an experiment to him. Nothing more. So I’m saying, I would understand if…” he hesitated, looking over his shoulder to make sure there were no other ears to hear his next words. “You know, if – if you wanted to hurt him.”

And he would protect her to the ends of the Earth if she confessed to it. He would pack a bag for her, wrench the charging port out of the floor, and take her far away from Luther and Allison and anyone else who dared try to touch her.

“Now, now.” She tutted with the slightest tone of disapproval. “Mr. Hargreeves was a great man. Industrialist. Inventor. Olympic gold medalist.” She stood, an exultant expression on her face. “He made the world a better place.”

And all at once Diego was terrified that Vanya might have been right.

“Stop it!” He said, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. “Do you hear me? Stop trying to defend him!” They stared at each other, and Diego was desperate for something, _anything_ to indicate she could understand him. That he could reach beyond his father’s control. “Mom, you gotta feel _something_. Look, he treated you worse than _anyone_. You worked for him for _thirty years_ ; he didn’t even give you a room to sleep in.”

His mother’s gaze grew distant and he could see the statements processing somewhere inside her. She looked hurt. Sad. Introspective. But then it was like a switch had been flipped and an achingly recognizable smile grew across her beautiful features. She turned towards the paintings, taking them in as if she hadn’t sat staring at them for countless years already.

“But I’ve got such beautiful views here.” She said, her eyes wandering longingly from one picture to the next.

“Mom, those are just paintings.” He couldn’t keep the melancholy from his reply; he didn’t try to.

“Of course they are.” She let out a happy sigh, finding a woman’s portrait among the many landscapes. “What a wonderful world she lives in.”

Diego wanted to cry, the magic and joy of his belief in their mother cracking, her image marred by a spiderweb of uncertainties and hopelessness.

“Sometimes I wonder if she’s lonely.” His mother continued, and Diego couldn’t stand to stay there any longer, his illusion of her love and support falling apart, and he hated Vanya all the more for putting those questions inside of him.

He hated that he still cared enough to even listen to her.


	17. Episode 3 - Academy Attack

##### Vanya

Vanya’s feet remembered the way to her and Mom’s private retreat, and as her medication began to knead away the tension in her shoulders, she climbed the last small flight of stairs up to the rooftop. Dusk washed the expanse with dying shades of plum and tangerine, overgrown greenery growing wild in the open air. She walked past the deteriorating greenhouse, toward the broken-down telescope and the tangled garden that had once flourished beside it.

As the sun sunk beneath the steel horizon, small garden lights switched on, their faint glow too dim to do more than reveal a basic pathway. She followed it, and then stopped when they ended.

Vanya stood on the gravel that outlined several dirt beds, the plants that she and her mother had grown long forgotten, but not entirely dead. She crouched down and touched one of the bushes. It was too early in the year for anything to bloom, but this looked like some of the roses they’d planted together. She smiled, remembering the never-ending facts her mother had recited as they’d dug out a place for it.

She’d been ten at the time.

The rest of the Academy had been preoccupied with their newly scheduled training regime, those hours set for learning how to work as a more cohesive team, and she had asked their father for botany lessons after he’d suggested she use the time for something constructive, something that wouldn’t get in anyone’s way. She had never done _well_ at botany, had never developed a green-thumb, but helping her mother to care for the plants gave her a sense of purpose, a usefulness, that she’d never found anywhere else outside of helping to bandage her siblings up. She relished coming here in the bright afternoon sun and walking among their colorful, hard-earned labors, watering and pruning and following Mom’s directions.

Riding the calm wave that settled into her, Vanya strolled across the darkened roof, enjoying the cold air that burned in her lungs, and the relative quiet of being several stories above the street. The cars were a distant drone, and… and… Vanya frowned, as a new sound slipped into notice. A muffled popping noise that reminded her of—

Gunfire?

She tilted her head to listen, recalling the noises she could hear from her sibling’s training sessions on the other side of their home. The rat-tat-tat of firearms had always been distant – she’d never been allowed in that area of the academy, certainly not when it was in use – but it had an unmistakable ring that had always filled her with apprehension. She was sure that she could hear it, but that made no sense. Nobody would be training, would they?

Curious, Vanya headed inside.

As soon as she opened the door the gunfire stopped. Had she imagined it? She stood there in indecision, listening, waiting, breathing. She considered shutting the door again and heading back to the garden, but then another burst of resounding shots reached her ears. Vanya stepped inside and let the door fall closed behind her.

Walking down the stairs and then down several halls, she heard a thunder of footsteps and additional barrages of shots. While the sounds distorted and reverberated against the walls and floors, Vanya was certain they weren’t coming from the training area, but rather the front of the Academy. Her heart thrummed a little faster, the dispassion brought on by her pills interrupted by a ripple of panic.

She followed the noise, unable to conjure any scenarios to explain it. The Academy was famous world-wide; nobody would dare try to break in, even _with_ their father gone. And she refused to believe that Luther and Diego would resort to firearms to resolve whatever new dispute they might have had. Aside from those two absurd considerations, she could fathom nothing else.

The explosive noise was louder as Vanya approached the front staircase, but as she paused, uncertain and teetering on the edge of fear, the gunfire stopped. Somebody shouted and there were more footsteps, but then it was quiet. A little less worried about safety now that the sounds had ceased, Vanya approached the stairs and called out to her siblings.

“Hello?” She descended them, heading into the foyer. “Guys? Is everyone okay?”

She neared the parlor, the room inside dim and silent. Where _was_ everybody? What had made all that noise and why had it so suddenly stopped?

“Hello?” She called again. “Guys?”

Vanya walked in, then frowned as she took note of the damage. Feathers and glass littered the floor, and there were bullet holes punched into the furniture and walls. The room was a mess, but there wasn’t a single one of her siblings to be found. An icy finger of dread ran down her spine, the sensation coinciding with the quiet clink of chained metal. She turned to the sound

Oh.

A shot of adrenaline spiked through her as an immense, masked figure neared with a swift step.

And then something swung at her head.

Vanya ducked on instinct, mind abruptly void of all reason. When she stood, looking at her attacker, confused and unable to comprehend what was happening, she wasn’t fast enough to evade the offhand already flying her way. The backhanded impact rattled through her skull as her feet left the ground. Her shoulder and hip flared with pain as she crashed down onto the coffee table, brain struggling to catch up.

“Hey asshole.” She heard the words but couldn’t focus on them, her vision blurred and head swimming.

What was… was she… who…

The thoughts came rushed and scrambled and overlayed as she groaned and pressed a hand to her temple.

Metal clattered from the foyer. Grunts of pain. Thumps of muted impact; flesh on flesh. There was a high-pitched whine in Vanya’s ears as she struggled to rise, struggled to clear her vision. When she looked up, out into the foyer, she saw two broad figures. One was Luther, the other her masked attacker. They were fighting, and Vanya was powerless to do more than watch.

Her eyes darted to the ceiling and then the wall as a burst of gunshots filtered across the house, but then her brother grunted, and she winced as he took a punch to the stomach. They exchanged more blows, the ring of knuckles against metal punctuating the ones pummeled against flesh.

“Vanya, get out of here!” Luther shouted, and she concentrated on his command, rolling off the table.

_Out of here – move. But where – get out – move – get out of here. Move!_

But she couldn’t think clearly. A stutter of ideas and fears and actions tangled together, and unable to grasp any of them, Vanya could only manage to run to the wall and press herself into a crevice, getting out of sight. She leaned back against the surface, breathless and scared and listening as her brother continued to wrestle off the intruder in the hall. Something substantial collided with the floor a second later, the resonating impact shuddering the wall at her back. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Vanya?” Luther called her name.

She almost sprang away from the wall to make a run for him, but before she could do more than open her eyes another voice bellowed.

“Come here!”

And then there was an exerted howl, another giant crash rumbling across the house, and Vanya flinched, pressing herself harder against the wall.

Her brother gave a quiet moan as footsteps approached the parlor.

Vanya refused to look. She didn’t want to watch her own murder, so she listened to the footfalls, trying to keep her harrowed pants shallow while she prayed for the house to absorb her. It didn’t. But neither did the blow to end her life come. Daring to peer at the room, she could see a bulky figure in her peripheral, but it didn’t come closer. After several seconds, the intruder turned and left the room, and Vanya let out a shaky exhale, her brain buzzing with incomplete sentences and half-formed ideas.

“Luther!” Allison’s voice pierced the quiet.

Vanya heard Diego’s voice but couldn’t understand him. There was a scuttle of feet, and then Luther’s voice boomed.

“Get out of the way!”

Allison screamed Luther’s name, and then the house was filled with the crash and clang of metal and glass smashing to the floor. Vanya winced and a strong shiver pushed through her, threatening to buckle her knees. Was that--? The chandelier? Were they—? She tried to swallow but couldn’t. Her body felt all at once heavy and electrified, rooted in place and humming with energy as she listened to the sounds in the foyer, trying to ascertain the unseen events and their threat.

_Move!_

Could she?

A general hush stretched out, interrupted by the tinkling of crushed glass and the rattles of loose metal bits. Vanya pulled away from the wall, braving a foot forward as Luther’s gasps filled the air, chased by the tear of fabric and the shuddering shift of iron. When she got to one of the arched entryways, her legs stopped at the sight of her brother pushing the enormous chandelier off his back, his jacket coming away with it to reveal…

To reveal…

Vanya stared, trying to resolve the image in front of her.

It was Luther, but not the one she recognized. His body was enormous, grotesque and ape-like, unnatural. Mottled dark gray skin covered in a thick layer of fur. Muscles much too large for a human. Her brother stood motionless, his eyes locked onto Allison as she, Vanya and Diego gaped. He noticed them next, and without a word he bounded for the stairs, fleeing from them with a look of misery stretched across his features.

What _happened_ to him?

Allison noticed her standing there then and came closer, glancing at the stairs one more time as if he might reappear. They shared a look, but Vanya couldn’t read her sister, couldn’t determine how she felt about anything that had happened in the last half-hour, or what they had seen only a moment ago. Something terrible had happened to Luther and realizing that she’d had no idea about it left a hollow ache inside of her.

“Did you know?” She asked her sister. If anybody had, it would be her.

Allison looked at the stairs again, her gaze growing distant when she turned back around.

“No.” She answered, her head shaking, voice weak.

When their eyes met, a dark understanding passed between them. Dad was responsible. _He_ had done this. They didn’t know why. They didn’t know when. They didn’t know how. But there was no doubt that he was to blame for Luther’s malformed shape. Vanya could only guess how her sister felt about it given the history she and Luther shared, but she was confident that Allison was more distressed about the discovery than she was. She didn’t know how to express her sympathy about this though, and she had no idea what to say.

“Vanya you’re bleeding.” Allison saved her from the trouble, a concerned dip in her brows.

“I—”

Diego ran up the stairs then, drawing their attention. They watched him go, and Vanya wondered if he was chasing after Luther. The notion was laughable considering how poorly they got along, but a part of her hoped that he was anyway. She herself couldn’t provide Luther with any comfort – she wasn’t part of their world and couldn’t relate in a meaningful way – but Diego was, and he could. Maybe he could help.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Allison said, pulling her concern away from the foyer. “Go on. Go sit down.” She motioned to the parlor. “I’ll grab something for that.”

##### Five

As his simpleton siblings wasted their time on a family meeting that would mean _nothing_ in a week, Five continued to monitor MeriTech with patience and steadfast obstinacy. He refused to miss LabCoat leaving the building. The shady asshole was up to something. He _knew_ it. He had to be. Otherwise he would have wasted all damn day here. It couldn’t be for nothing.

 _“You know if this doesn’t go anywhere then we’ve squandered an entire day. Only six left after this.”_ Delores said, vocalizing his concern.

“You don’t have to tell me that.” Five groused, throwing her a cursory glimpse, irritable as he considered the possibility and a little crankier on top of that because his ass hurt, his shoulders were stiff, and he needed a fucking coffee. Maybe something stronger. “I know there are only six days left.”

 _“Then maybe we should just go. Try something else._ ”

“Yeah, you got a better idea?” He couldn’t keep the agitation out of his voice as he chanced another look away from the entrance.

 _“I… No.”_ She sounded defeated and grew quiet.

Five scoffed at the unhelpful attempt and turned back to look for his mark.

“Okay then.”

Like it or not there were no other places _to_ try. No other leads. She knew that as well as he did.

But then Five’s waiting was over. MeriTech’s front door pushed open, and LabCoat walked out with a duffle bag in hand. That was new. He hadn’t gone in with it.

“There’s our guy.” He shared with Delores as she stared out the other window, still stinging from his rebuttal.

Five might have apologized for being snappy, but LabCoat held his attention. The doctor stopped at the bottom of the stairs and scanned the street. He was looking for something. Or somebody. Not a minute later, a car pulled around the corner and neared the building, pulling up alongside the curb right where his mark had been standing. LabCoat must have recognized the vehicle because he walked forward to meet it. Five narrowed his eyes and leaned in a little closer to the window.

LabCoat reached the car and pulled the backdoor open, depositing his bag on the back seat. He stretched into the car then as the driver handed something to him.

“What the hell is he up to?” Five asked, mulling over the possibilities.

When LabCoat straightened, there was a thick brown envelope in his hand that he was quick to tuck into the inner folds of his jacket. He’d made an exchange of some kind. But of what? Why? The doctor turned then and walked down the sidewalk, away from MeriTech. Five considered that the asshole could be taking advantage of some lucrative illegal opportunity in the prosthetics business, but there was always the possibility that it was more than that. He had to be sure.

He jumped out of the car and across the street to tail him.

Five kept his distance as he followed LabCoat, presumably to his car, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he contemplated whether to take the guy on here or wait and see if he revealed anything else. He didn’t like the idea of waiting. Patience had never been his strong suit. He could almost _hear_ the clock ticking down to zero. Six more days. Deciding to take care of things now, Five was ready to jump and get the man down on the ground when a woman’s voice rang out as they approached the parking garage.

_Shit._

“Lance! Over here!”

Five rolled his body into the doorway of a building they’d just passed, hoping he hadn’t been spotted. Poking his head out, he watched his mark approach a slender, dark-haired woman and slid an arm around her waist. Girlfriend? Wife? Didn’t matter. It did fuck his plans, however. Witnesses were best avoided. He followed the pair into the garage, hanging back as far as he dared, and when he heard a car beep, the doors unlocking and headlights flashing, he jumped into an empty vehicle of his own. As he hotwired it, he kept an eye on them, and when they pulled out of the garage he followed, using his own money to pay the exit cost.

“Fucking rip-off.” He grumbled, pulling out onto the street.

He managed to keep up without getting too close, the evening traffic light enough so that he could maintain a two-car distance at all times. First rule of stalking: don’t be obvious.

##### Diego

When Diego rushed up the stairs, he thought it would be to the gruesome sight of his mother, riddled with bullets or mangled in some incapacitating way. He could hear her making wordless noise, but the fact that she hadn’t come to check on them or call out in any way had him dreading the worst.

So when he rounded the banister and saw her seated peacefully in her hallway nook, his feet faltered with momentary hope. But his relief crashed fast when he saw that she was seated in the exact same way as he’d found her earlier, humming quietly, working on the same pointless cross-stitch. Her arm gave a subtle sway as she worked the needle and her head tilted, but she was otherwise motionless, calm, and unbothered by everything that had transpired over the last several minutes.

“Mom.” He called gently as he approached, not wanting to alarm her. “You okay?”

He laid a hand on her shoulder, only to find his efforts unnecessary.

She sat in a daze, her eyes staring off into the distance while her hands moved with the stitchwork. At the sound of his question she grew a dreamy smile.

“Of course I am.” She answered, shaking her head as if the question were out of place, her eyes unfocused despite his attempt to draw her attention.

A pain began to grow behind Diego’s lungs.

“You didn’t hear the noises?” He tried, fearing the answer as she looked up at him. “The guys in the masks that just shot up the house?

He prayed she would be concerned, prayed that she would react in a way that made sense, but instead she let out a soft laugh that hollowed him out.

“What are you talking about, silly?”

It was then that he looked down at the stitching in her lap. The pattern was broken, a piece of it pulled to the side, and his mother was sewing her own _hand_ into the fabric, the needle punching through her artificial skin yet she gave no notice of it. She didn’t bleed, and she didn’t feel pain, but he had never seen her do harm against herself before. Diego was at a loss.

He dropped down beside her, the reality crushing him as he watched her pull the needle through once, twice, three times, unaware of the defective action, her expression slack and distant.

That new hollow void inside of him filled with a rush of agony and exhaustion, his soul sick with a truth he couldn’t ignore any longer. She was broken somehow. Something had happened, had gone wrong, and she was dying right in front of him. He didn’t have grandparents, but this decline reminded him of Eudora when she’d told him of her grandmother suffering through dementia.

It was a slow decay of the mind, a torment that could stretch on for too many years.

He couldn’t say it, couldn’t _think_ it, but what if Luther had been…

He hated his brother, but he knew what he had to do.

He couldn’t let them just dismantle her and throw her body into a closet somewhere. She deserved…

She deserved…

Diego dipped down to a knee at his mother’s side and slipped a knife out of its sheath. He watched her face, hoping for anything that might beg him to stop. Any indication that she was there and aware and listening and _alive_. But even when her eyes met with his, there was a distance there, as if she were looking at him from across the room and only vaguely recognized his face.

With a shaky breath and a tremor in his hand, Diego pressed his knife against her forearm and slid it up slowly towards her wrist. He might as well have stuck it into himself, the piercing stab at his core so sharp he couldn’t inhale for a moment. What was he doing? What was he—

“Diego? What are you doing?” Mom asked him, and he struggled to not meet her stare, struggled not to stop and wrap her in a hug and tell her it was okay, struggled to stay focused as he pulled the flaps of synthetic skin to the side to reveal the pulsing blue fiberoptics buried underneath.

He’d watched Pogo do maintenance on Mom before. He knew there was a mainline running underneath the thin sensory cables. With as much care as he could, he pushed the finer network of wires to the sides to reveal the main line.

When he did look up, it was to her tender smile, and Diego felt his eyes burn. Did she know what he was going to do? Did she understand? If so, she might have been grateful by the way she peered straight into him. A mountain of despair sat on his shoulders, remorse over his actions choking him as he tried to speak.

“It’s gonna be o—” but his throat tightened, and the word couldn’t escape.

“Remember what we worked on.” She whispered, her lips turning up with pride and encouragement and Diego wished she would reach into his chest and _make him_ stop. “Just picture the word in your mind.”

He would. For her. One last time.

“It’s gonna be okay—” he started, but the next word hung, clinging to his lips and refusing to leave. He kept his stare focused on her and tried again, then tried one more time and managed to pry it loose. “Mom.”

With the word finally free, Diego’s face crumbled under the pressure of his misery as reached in and pinched off the flow of power running through her core cable. The fiberoptics blinked and faded, his mother’s hands losing their grip on her cross-stitch. Her face relaxed and her eyelids fluttered as an acute drowsiness seemed to settle over her. It was finished, and all at once he was horrified by what he’d done even if it’d been unquestionably necessary only seconds before. He couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

“Di-e-go…” Mom stuttered and slurred his name, and he could do nothing but watch as she died. “Re…mem…ber…”

She offered her final reassurance as the cabled veins below her skin glowed blue beneath the surface, struggling to hang onto the last dredges of electricity that they could. Her head began to droop then, the light in her eyes flashing bright before sputtering out forever.

Diego watched her face, unable to tear himself away, even as he grew faint from lack of oxygen.

_What did I…_

And all at once a sob tore out of him, and he bit down on his forearm to keep it muffled. The invisible hand of an angry, vengeful god squeezed him, and Diego gasped, trying to free himself from its firm hold. His jaws clenched tighter and he closed his eyes, a single hot tear escaping. He stayed crouched until the pressure on his breast eased and he could get a lungful of air in. In and out. In and out. He concentrated on the sound, working to compose himself, the muffled sounds of his sisters talking below making their way up.

He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take the sound of her. Vanya. She could have been hurt. She could have _died_!

He stalked downstairs and into the sitting room, pacing behind Allison as she sat on the coffee table, Vanya sitting in front of her on the couch with a rag to her forehead. She _was_ hurt! She should have known better! Being here was nothing but a recipe for death and disaster. People _died_ in this goddamn house. Didn’t she _get_ that? Didn’t she _remember_? She never should have fucking come! He shook his head, his pain contorting into frustration and anger at her reckless stupidity.

“What are you still doing here?” He needed to know why she hadn’t run for the hills at the first sign of trouble, needed to know what was so damn important that she’d risk her _life_ for it.

“I’m just trying to help.” She answered, too calm, too at ease, too gentle and too much like Mom.

“No, you could’ve been killed!” He roared, barely managing to stop himself from grabbing her up and shaking sense into her.

Her expression shifted, confused by a concern he hadn’t shown for her in years, and Diego knew he’d let his old feelings for her get too close to the surface.

“Or gotten any of us killed.” He added quick, deciding that the best way to get her out of there, the best way to get her safe, would be to verify that she had no place among them. They were too dangerous.

It was the only way to keep from losing another member of his family. He leaned down and glowered at Allison, willing her to back him on this if she had any care for their sister whatsoever.

“She is a liability.” He declared before turning to stand behind her, hoping she would agree enough to finish the renunciation because he couldn’t stand to see Vanya wallow in the disappointment of rejection.

“Allison?” He heard her ask and ground his teeth together before taking a seat and focusing on the hands he’d murdered their mother with.

“I think what he’s trying to say is that this kind of stuff is dangerous.” Allison began, and Diego was grateful she could put his sentiments to better words. “You’re just—”

“Not like you.” Vanya filled in, but there was no fight in her tone, only resignation.

There was a span of quiet, and Diego chanced a glance up without tilting his head, watching as Vanya gave a stiff nod before standing and fleeing the room. Allison rose as well and started after her.

“No, that’s not what I – Vanya _wait_!”

“Let her go.” Diego insisted, knowing this was for the best.

He couldn’t lose anyone else today.

“It’s for the best.” He repeated, this time out loud for his sister’s benefit as well.

##### Vanya

She was grateful for the medicated embrace that supported her through Diego’s cold dismissal as she sped down to the basement kitchen for her things. She knew taking another pill while she’d waited for Allison had been pushing it, but her rush of adrenaline from before had seemed to burn off the effects of her previous dose. She was happy for it now either way.

Funny, she thought, how she even managed to fail at being a bystander these days. Ordinary wasn’t bad enough anymore. She was worse than that, a hindrance. When had that happened?

After grabbing her violin and figurine from the couch, she used the kitchen phone to call for a cab, then escaped the house through the side door to avoid crossing paths with either of her siblings again.

Vanya felt like she was floating five feet behind her own body as she stood in the rain and waited for her ride, violin slung over a shoulder and Leonard’s gift clutched tight in one hand. The sky cried for her, its tears soaking into her hair and clothes, but the damp chill wasn’t a bother. It barely registered despite the goosebumps sprouting across her arms, the discomfort a thousand feet away and wrestling with the corrosive atrophy of another cruel exclusion from the family that didn’t want her.

That was fine. She was fine.

Thunder rumbled. Time lapsed. The taxi pulled up to the curb and she climbed inside.

The ride passed in a blur, and Vanya’s thoughts rolled out of her head and down the window as she watched droplets pour across the glass before disappearing into the night. She couldn’t remember paying the driver. Didn’t remember unlocking her door or setting the miniature violinist down. Didn’t remember standing there motionless for ten minutes or digging out the check that Leonard had given her in payment for the class. She didn’t remember picking up the phone, but when the taxi company answered and she stared down at the address in front of her, Vanya had a moment of sharp lucidity and knew she didn’t want to be alone. She was _so_ tired of the isolation.

She requested a ride and then waited for them outside, losing the tether to herself again until she was standing on Leonard’s front porch. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew this was a bold move, possibly stupid enough to scare him away, but he was the only person in the world she could think of that wanted her around.

And so she knocked, thunder rolling across the heavens to announce her.

Leonard opened the door a minute later, and his face brightened.

“Vanya!” He greeted.

It was a wonderful thing to see, even if the joy of it couldn’t reach her all the way. It was enough. More than her family had provided.

“Oh, my God, you’re bleeding.” Leonard’s expression fell with concern. “What happened?”

“Sorry I…” _Was attacked? Was thrown away? Wasn’t wanted? Was so lonely it was unbearable?_ Her thoughts streamed by in a swift whisper and she couldn’t grasp at any of them, her mouth choosing its own answer. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

He shook his head, startled, she supposed.

“It’s okay.” He said, and she braced for another rebuff. Leonard did nothing for a long second, the rain and thunder and her thoughts drowning any anxiety over being cast aside, but then he took a step back. “Come in.”

And he made a space for her to pass.

She stepped inside with thunder at her heels, the warm glow of his home wrapping around her without judgement or question. As he closed the door behind her she stood in the doorway of his living room and entry way, her eyes passing across the space with distant curiosity. It didn’t look like a home that belonged to a man his age, but rather one she’d expect from his mother, or even grandmother. Nothing jumped out as distinctly masculine, but then again, Leonard wasn’t distinctly so himself. That didn’t bother her. It was nice. Safe.

“Here, let me get that.” He said, suddenly behind her.

Vanya turned to acknowledge him, and he waited, then when she made no motion to move, he reached out for her violin case. She’d forgotten that she’d brought it with. She understood then what he’d meant and handed it over. He set it down beside the sofa, then reached a cautious hand out to lightly grab the sleeve of her jacket.

“Oh.” She shook her head, the fog inside of it swaying pleasantly. “Sorry.”

She let him slip her out of the coat and watched him drape it across the back of the couch. His eyebrows pushed together, and he waved a hand downward.

“Why don’t you sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Um. I’ll go make us some tea.”

“Okay.” She said, amiable, then did as he suggested.

He returned before too long with a small wooden tray held between his hands. There was a pot, two teacups, a box of tissues and a brown bottle of peroxide. He set the tray down onto the coffee table then took a seat beside her.

“May I?” He motioned towards her temple and she nodded.

Leonard plucked a tissue from the box, then damped a corner of it with peroxide. He tucked her hair back behind her ear, then dabbed at the cut, his focus shifting between it and her eyes every so often as she observed him in silence. She was grateful, though she wasn’t sure how to express it.

“What happened?” He asked after tossing the bloodied tissue to the table and getting another. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

Vanya laid the question out and repeated it, trying to determine how best to answer. What _had_ happened? After she picked her words carefully, she decided to simply tell him what she knew, which admittedly wasn’t much.

“Some people, two I think, maybe more, they um, they broke into the Academy. I don’t know why they did, or what they wanted, but I – I ended up getting in their way. One of them hit me.”

He gave an empathizing wince, cleaning off the last of her blood before discarding the second tissue beside the first. He reached up then and cradled her head in his hand, his thumb probing the area. The touch felt nice, and Vanya let her eyes dip shut as she enjoyed the sensation.

He pulled away too soon.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches or anything. Should be okay without a bandaid too; bleedings stopped.”

Vanya nodded, wishing he would touch her again.

“How about that tea, eh?” He asked, turning to the table to pour her a cup. “You’re real lucky you weren’t— oh God, you’re shivering! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think.”

Leonard set down the teapot and jumped to his feet.

“Let me get you a towel and a blanket. I’ll be right back.”

He was gone, and Vanya looked down at herself. She _was_ shivering. Violently. Funny, she hadn’t noticed. Could barely feel it. The chill was distant, and she wasn’t certain if that was the cause anyway. Whether her brain decided to acknowledge it or not, her body was probably suffering the side effects of over-stressing and coming down from a near-death experience. It was nice, being disconnected from it.

Leonard came back with a towel and a blanket for her, and they sat beside one another and chatted for a while. About what she wasn’t even sure; medication and fears and loneliness and being so, so _tired_. He did most of the talking, though she did open about her brother having made it perfectly clear she didn’t belong at the Academy. He sympathized, wrapping an arm around her, and Vanya leaned out of her head-fog and into the embrace, resting her head against his shoulder.

“I know how that feels.” Leonard said, his voice sending pleasurable vibrations through her. “My dad was really good at making me feel like I didn’t belong at home either. He would always say things like…”

Vanya’s eyelids were too heavy to hold open, so she let them slide shut, enjoying the sound of Leonard’s voice without listening to what he said. The tonal tremors rumbled into her, tingling across nerves before dancing away. _I wish I could hold onto them_ …

But then she sank into a velvet darkness that only her medication could provide, the world and all its florid, untamed noises fading into a distant hush, leaving her to curl alone on the floor of a giant, black cavern that was devoid of sound. It was a frightening comfort, one she’d long since grown accustomed to facing on her own in the dead of every night.

A flash of light broke through as she heard somebody telling her goodnight and her body floated sideways. Something solid jabbed into her hip. She shifted, reaching for it without opening her eyes, and felt the cool plastic of her pill bottle.

“Here, I’ll put that in your coat.” A voice promised, and she handed it over without question before falling back into the black cavern.  
  


##### Five

LabCoat – _Lance_ – pulled up to a curb and parked before too long, and Five drove his stolen car past them, around the next corner, spotted a fire hydrant, then swung into the empty open in front of it. After pulling his handiwork apart to turn the car back off, Five scrambled out, then jumped to the nearest rooftop for a better view. He couldn’t risk losing him already.

His mark, plus one, was walking up the street, arm in arm and none the wiser.

Five followed along the edge of the building, then jumped to the next roof, keeping pace. They walked past one more building, and then the doctor slipped into the next one over. Five groaned at the sight. It was a giant apartment building Too many floors. Too many apartments. So much for following him to the front door. Maybe it was for the best. If he were going to have company, wasn’t like Five could sneak in anyway.

That meant he’d have to wait by Lance’s car then and pounce in the morning. He didn’t like it, but he could risk letting this asshole slip out of his fingers.

With a sigh, Five headed back the way he came and eyed the street as he went. If he was camping out here all night, he might as well get some food. Some water too if he knew what was good for him. He’d never hear the end of it from Delores if he got drunk again, and if he were being honest, he already felt like shit. No. Water and food sounded good. Plus, he really had to take a leak.

Five spent the next hour getting ready for his long night, confident he had at least that much time without eyes on LabCoat. He found corner store that was closed a few blocks away and jumped inside, used the bathroom, then went about shoplifting his essentials. He grabbed some water and a couple mystery-meat sandwiches, a tin of vegetables, a case of caffeine pills, and a pocketknife from a display behind the counter for good measure. In case things needed to get messy in the morning.

After getting back to the rooftop across from Lance’s apartment, Five sat down on the edge of the building and ate his meal without enjoyment. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t bad. It was fuel at that point and nothing more. As he chewed, he kept focused on the building. He had to stay vigilant, and he didn’t want to risk letting his mind wander.

Washing it all down with water, he took four pills then settled in for a long night.


	18. Episode 4 - Sweet Leonard (POV Vanya)

#### March 27th, 2019

The sound of something clattering nearby stirred Vanya out of sleep. Her initial worry was that Mr. Puddles had gotten into her apartment again and was knocking things down, but she didn’t recognize the scratchy texture of the blanket on her hands or the way her feet were elevated, and then a voice cut straight through the confusion as she opened her eyes.

“I hope I wasn’t being too loud.” Leonard called out.

Shit. She remembered the night before and sat up, inwardly cringing at both having showed up without an invitation, and then…

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She groaned, laying a hand across her face as she leaned forward on her knees, mortified. She’d passed out while he’d been in the middle of talking. “I must have fallen asleep last night.”

“It’s okay. You were exhausted.” He said, and when she looked up it was to the sight of him carrying two coffee mugs towards her.

She was appreciative beyond words, both for his kindness the night before, and his ability to wave off the inconvenience. Vanya was falling fast for him, and she wasn’t sure she cared to stop it in the wake of all that had happened over the last week.

“I would have let you sleep all day too, but…” He gave her a mock frowny face.

“Rehearsal!” She gasped, almost having forgotten herself.

The conductor would kill her for being late twice in a row, and the idea of everyone cutting off mid-practice to wait for her again sent a flare of anxiety off in her stomach. Vanya vaguely remembered it going into her other jacket and climbed to her feet, rushing to find it as her eye darted to the antique wall clock, the dwindling time only intensifying her concern.

“Rehearsal.” He agreed from behind her, obviously to the unease clawing at her insides.

She found the bottle and pulled it out, but the comforting rattle of pills was absent. It was empty.

“Oh shit.” She must have taken the last one back at the Academy and not realized it, or maybe she had realized; the events were a muddle.

“What?”

“I thought I’d be going home last night, so I left my refill.” It was the only conclusion she could come to.

She knew that she hadn’t arrived at Leonard’s with the intention of staying, and while she couldn’t remember noticing her bottle was empty before, her double dosage didn’t exactly lend credence to what she did or didn’t remember. For all she knew she might have taken another after getting here.

_I’m so—_

“Stupid!” She finished the thought out loud.

“So you stop by on your way.” Leonard suggested, remaining coolheaded.

“No, there’s no time.” She couldn’t be late, not again, and knowing that warred with the building tension coiling behind her ribs. “It’s just –” she turned to put the empty bottle back in her jacket, “I really need it for my nerves. I’ve been taking it since I was a kid.”

She was struck by a sense of déjà vu at the comment before turning to find Leonard handing her cup. Had they talked about this last night too? She couldn’t remember.

“For one day, I think you’ll be fine.” He reassured her with a smile, and she sighed.

He was right. It was just one morning. She could take one later. Right? She accepted the drink even though she didn’t want it, already too nervous and too late, and took a quick sip so that she wouldn’t look unappreciative. There was no time to sit and chat and enjoy it though. She had a go, so she handed it right back, then turned to get her coat.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” He said as she slid the jacket on, and she turned back to face him. “Let’s make a deal,” he continued, setting her cup on the table. “Around me, you don’ have to apologize just for existing.”

Vanya pulled the hood of her sweater out from under her coat and smiled, the nerves in her belly fluttering for a moment instead of twisting. Only one other person had ever told her that before, and he had chosen to leave her behind without a second thought. She smiled at Leonard, allowing him an extra inch that she’d never given anyone else before, an inch that might one day supplant the void of unfulfilled longing she’d carried with her since childhood.

She nodded, and he let out a sweet little laugh, setting his own cup on the table to join hers.

“It’s a beautiful day.” He declared then as she bent to pick up her violin. “Come on. I’ll walk you to rehearsal.”

“Is it on your way?”

“Not at all.” He confessed and Vanya smiled, unable to help herself as her previous apprehension melted into glowing anticipation.

Maybe she had finally found something special, or at the very least… somebody who found _her_ special.

They walked in amiable quiet for a while, enjoying the chilly, early spring air as they strolled out of his neighborhood. They chatted about nothing in particular for a while: work – he’d head there after dropping her off, the weather – they couldn’t wait for it to warm up, the news – how awful it was that somebody had shot up Griddy’s Doughnuts. He promised to be at her show one more time. She apologized for something silly and he reminded her once more that it was unnecessary.

She retold the story of the events the day before, sharing more now that he knew who she was and who her family was, reiterating that they didn’t want her there, not her brothers and not her sister. She waved it all off though; it wasn’t new for her. That pain wasn’t fresh or foreign. Vanya didn’t tell him that they suspected her mother of murder, but she did express that they worried her hardware was degrading and that it might not turn out well. They theorized about the intruders for a bit, but neither could come up with any good theories.

She was overjoyed at having somebody to chat with, somebody who seemed interested in what she had to say. It was the same feeling she’d enjoyed while doing her book readings right after her novel had been published, like stepping out from a dark corner and into the light.

“Thank you for listening.” Vanya said as they neared the theater, hoping he understood the depth of that gratitude.

He hummed in response, and she knew he didn’t consider the act as grand a gesture as she did. Looking at him, she noticed the dark circles under his eyes as well and felt a pang of guilt. She really had intruded into his evening without warning, and now she was inconveniencing him even more.

“I’m sorry I kept you up so late.” She offered.

“You’re _doing_ it again.” He repeated, and she resisted the urge to apologize for _that._

“Force of habit.” She said instead. “When I was a kid, I felt like I had to apologize for even breathing.”

“Tell me about it.” Leonard agreed as they got to the bright red doors of the Icarus’ back entrance. “I don’t think my dad ever forgave me for being born.”

“What about your mom?” Vanya asked, hoping they hadn’t discussed it last night and she’d forgotten.

Leonard didn’t answer straight away.

“She wasn’t really in the picture.” He said at last, looking down, and she knew it would be a sad story once he told her.

She didn’t want to push him though. They had all the time in the world to learn more about one another. She looked back at the street, and that’s when she noticed Helen passing them by, her blue case held tight in one hand and her pace swift as always.

“Hey Helen.” Vanya called out, feeling friendly, and hoping to gloss over their awkward encounter in the bathroom.

Helen looked back at her and flashed an acknowledging smile that held no warmth. It was professional and brief, barely the sort of smile shared with a colleague. She turned back around and hurried on. Vanya sighed and looked down. So much for that. She knew right then that Helen would forever be out of her league.

“Friend of yours?” Leonard asked, drawing her out of the sobering truth and reminding her of the new opportunity right in front of her.

“First chair.” She answered.

“First… And that is…?” He made a gesture of general confusion, and Vanya smiled, forgetting not everyone knew all the music related terminology that she did.

“Oh it’s—” She laughed.

“What is that?” He went on, accidentally interrupting her

“It’s like the quarterback of the violin section.” She explained, using what rudimentary sports knowledge she had for comparison.

“Ah. I know football.” He said with a smile, and she laughed again, a little amazing at how natural and easy it felt with him.

“She has the solo at the concert next week.” She continued. “She’s yet to be unseated for…” Vanya thought back with a sour hiss of dissatisfaction as she realized they’d started at the same time. “Five years. It’s kind of a thing.”

She added the last bit, unsure how to explain that she wanted First Chair herself but could never possibly attain it. It was the only competitive thing Vanya had ever fought for and given up at, all at the same time. She simply wasn’t good enough. It was a depressing truth that she thought she’d accepted years ago, but she found a new sense of rancorous disappointment rising at the consideration.

“Well, want me to try?” Leonard offered lightheartedly, and Vanya’s resentment faded in spite of herself. “I can try. I’ve been practicing.”

His grin was contagious.

“I’m getting good!” He went on, but then they’d reached the stage door entrance and there was no more time to talk.

“Thank you for everything.” Vanya said sincerely, not sure how to even begin covering how much his company had helped her.

“Hey, maybe you can thank me over a dinner.” He said. “We never got to have our last one.”

She smiled and nodded, not even sure when her last actual date had been.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Perfect.”

They stared at one another for a minute, neither – at least she hoped she wasn’t alone in this – wanting to leave despite needing to. He seemed to sense the unwelcome stopping point too though and let out a quick chuckle.

“Well…” He said, glancing to the stage door. “Good luck.”

And then he turned to leave, alleviating Vanya of the struggle to do so first, and she couldn’t remember appreciating anybody as much as she did him in a very long time. Even after the week she’d had, Leonard still managed to lift her spirits, and she felt _good._ She glanced over his shoulder to peek at him as he walked away, and she couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed.


	19. Episode 4 - Burned Down (POV Five)

Five paced. Down the length of building. Up again. Repeat. And repeat.

It was the only way he’d managed to stay awake after dozing off for an unacceptable two hours during the night. He’d woken with a sore back, a kinked neck, and a near heart attack when he thought he might have lost his target. The car was still there though, and it was only four in the morning. He didn’t LabCoat had gone anywhere. At least he hoped not.

And so, he paced, swallowing another caffeine tablet every half-hour. By the time seven rolled around, Five felt like he was holding onto a live wire. His skin crawled and his eyes bulged, but when he turned to walk the length of building for the five-hundredth time he saw a sight to make it all worthwhile.

Lance was walking down the street, heading for his car and carrying a… Five squinted. A fucking dog. Well. No matter. If he ended up killing the guy he’d let the pooch go. Or maybe he’d keep it. He’d always wanted a dog.

LabCoat crossed the road and unlocked his car, then deposited the dog onto the back seat. As he made for the driver’s side door, Five curled his fists and tore open the fabric of space-time so he could jump through. He landed in the passenger seat, but his math was off by a fraction of a fraction of a fraction, and he’d ended up underneath the top strap of the seatbelt. He was tired. Didn’t make a difference though. He was close enough.

The driver’s door closed, and when Lance turned to find Five sitting there he flinched and yelped.

“Jesus!”

Five didn’t give him any more time to react. He lunged forward and pressed his knife against the doctor’s throat, their faces only inches apart.

“One chance.” He warned, too drained, and too strung out for games. “That’s all you’ve got. _One_ chance to tell me exactly what’s going on in that lab.”

“I… I manufacture prosthetic devices for fake patients.” Lance stuttered out his confession, unblinking and satisfyingly shaken. “I bill the insurance companies and then sell them for cash on the black market.”

“Including eyeballs?”

“Yeah, they’re my biggest seller.” Five exhaled deeply and clenched his teeth, trying not to kill the asshole. He still needed information. But he was pissed. This shit could have been resolved yesterday! “I mean, they sell like hotcakes. I – I’ve got a list, a waiting list, probably 20 buyers.”

“So the serial number I told you…”

“Uh, could’ve already been bought. Yes, off – off the books.”

Five let out another heavy breath. God did he wanna kill this guy. It’d be so fucking easy too. He was so goddamn soft.

“I _needed_ that list, Lance.” He said instead, struggling to hold back his hemorrhaging rage. “Names and numbers, and I need it _now_!”

“I don’t have it. I mean, not on me. The only copy’s in my safe at the lab.”

This asshole was _so_ lucky he had some value left.

“Well, you start the car then, ‘cause we’re going on a field trip.”

“Okay. Okay.”

“ _Now._ ” Ordered him, leaning back into his seat.

Lance started the car second later and buckled himself in, Five glaring at him all the while as he imagined the various ways in which he could end him for dragging this shit out. Time. Was. Ticking.

Neither of them had, however, accounted for the morning rush-hour traffic. Lance white-knuckled the steering wheel while Five sat in seething silence, stabbing the knife into the armrest as his near non-existent patience waned ever further. As they sat bumper to bumper, the doctor reached for the stereo.

“How about some music?” He asked, mid-reach.

“I’d rather cut my ears off and feed them to your dog.” Five snarled. “But yours’ll go first Lance, I promise you that.”

Lance retracted his hand, and they sat in a strained silence for the rest of the drive, Five’s leg bouncing with pent up energy, anger, and annoyance. By the time they got to the familiar stretch of street, he could barely wait for LabCoat to find a parking spot.

“Just take that one!” He pointed to the open space in front of a hydrant.

“I’ll get a –” but whatever he was about to say was cut off by the murderous look he earned.

Five didn’t give two happy shits about anything else this guy had to say unless it was to tell him exactly _who_ the eye had gone to.

As soon as the car shut off Five jumped to the driver’s side and yanked the door open, forcefully hauling the doctor out. He dragged him up the sidewalk, determined not to waste any more time, but as they neared the front of the building a cloud of black smoke hung in the air ahead.

_No._

The smoke was billowing out of MeriTech.

_NO!_

Five dropped his hold on Lance and sprinted for the entrance. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe he could still get inside. Maybe he could –

But when he swung around the corner of the building to the front doors, he could see flames snaking out of the windows, licking their way up the walls as they ate everything he’d come there for. Before he could even stop running as he took all of this in, there was an explosion. A gust of heat battered his face as the shockwave slammed into him, sweeping him off his feet and squeezing a harrowed cry out of his lungs. Five flew backwards from the force and collided with ground, the breath knocked straight out of him. His ears rang. His skin itched from the shards of glass and bits of plaster and insulation he’d been blasted with.

Dazed, Five rolled off of his side and flopped onto his back for a half-second, trying to reorient himself as he stared up at the bright blue sky. The fumes tumbling away from the building blocked his view with a gray hand. He groaned and pushed himself up, grunting as shards cut into the palms of his hands. But he didn’t care as the view ahead of him came into focus. Whatever the fire hadn’t destroyed, the explosion certainly had. Every window was shattered. The walls were split open. Fire danced on every floor.

The wanton destruction was a punch to the gut, and the stifling air washing over him carried the sickly-sweet hint of week-old decay and unending loneliness. Their faces swarmed up, bloated, opened eyed. Luther, Diego, Allison, Klaus. The tang of smoke layered his tongue and throat. Five felt carved out; hollow.

He had nothing left. Every ounce of hope and determination burned away with the fires facing him.

Unable to process it all yet, Five ambled back to his van in a semi-lucid trance, his feet crunching across pieces of his shattered ambitions. He was crashing from the overdose of caffeine. He was half-delirious from a lack of sleep. And now he’d be doomed to live through the hellscape of an impending apocalypse all over again.

He couldn’t…

He stumbled over the rubble underfoot, flames spitting at his back as he grabbed Delores under one arm, tucking a full bottle under the other while his free hand snatched up the half-empty one. And then he walked. He walked through today and he walked through forty-five years ago, the buildings he passed slipping from ruin and wreckage to gleaming towers unaware of their fate. He walked past the living and the dead. He walked and he drank, and Delores remained stoic in the face of his hopelessness.

Five was already soused by the time he meandered up to the library, it’s solid walls and perfect pillars both unfamiliar and not. He was home though, and so he walked inside, wandering the floors and rows aimlessly until he found a corner his body deemed worthy enough to collapse in. He finished the bottle in hand, hugging Delores while he worked to white-out his brain.

“ _You can figure something else out_.” She whispered to him. “ _Use what you learned from the Commission._ ”

Five grunted. What was the fucking point?

 _“So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”_ She was disappointed, and it plucked a cord of disquiet behind his ribs.

“Fine.” He grumbled. “Fine. You wait here.”

Five set her gently to the side and placed the last bottle of liquor under her arm.

“Watch this for me, will ya?”

And then he sauntered off in search of something to write with, and something to write on. Luckily, there were plenty of students to steal from.


	20. Episode 4 - Grabbing Drinks (POV Vanya)

The last thing Vanya expected when she walked out of the Icarus after rehearsal was to see her sister standing at the nearby kiosk around the corner, engrossed in a magazine. Twice in two days now she’d caught Allison out and about, waiting for her, and while she’d only been puzzled the first time around, this visit corded a knot in her intestines as she considered what other bad news there might be in store.

“Hey.” She called out as she stepped up to Allison’s side. “What are you doing here?”

She couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice, and when her sister turned, Vanya realized it must have rested in her expression as well.

“Hey.” Allison answered back. “I was looking for you. I, um – I wanted to be the one to tell you about Mom.”

“What?” Vanya asked, puzzled by the way her sister had phrased that.

There was a long pause, and Allison’s gaze dropped.

“Vanya she’s…” there was another pregnant pause. “She’s gone.”

 _Gone? What did that_ – but then she remembered the state in which they’d left the discussion the day before. Had Five gone home and cast his vote? Had they just turned her off and put her in a corner somewhere to collect dust? She was hurt by the notion that they would do so without ceremony or warning, but not surprised. She’d been _more_ surprised that she’d even been part of the discussion in the first place.

“I thought we were gonna wait a bit.” She commented, keeping her voice neutral.

“It was those psychopaths last night.” Allison explained. “They killed her.” And Vanya felt a hint of relief that her family hadn’t excluded her yet again, though that wasn’t much of a balm against the loss settling in her chest. “We found her this morning.”

That was that then. Mom was dead.

Vanya swallowed and looked at the ground. She’d been prepared for this already. Hadn’t she? Hadn’t she already said her private goodbye after they’d discussed shutting Mom off in the first place? The grief she felt now was shallow, a dim reflection of what she’d already built a resistance too over the years. It was stronger than what she’d felt for Dad, but not piercing or overpowering.

“And listen…” Allison went on. “Last night, what I said—”

“No.” Vanya interrupted. She didn’t want to hear it; wasn’t in the mood to discuss it. It wasn’t the first time they’d said things like that to her, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. She could handle their insensitivity, but she couldn’t stand to hear a disingenuous apology. “No don’t – don’t worry about it.”

They shared a long look, Vanya knew her sister was trying to interpret the response, but she didn’t much care how it was taken. She’d been having a good morning, all things considered, and after the news about Mom, she wasn’t in the mood to hash anything out about their relationship or lack thereof. Allison seemed unsure of how to take this, but her gaze dropped after a moment and she seemed to remember something.

“Oh! I have your keys.” She held out her hand, revealing them.

It had to be a mistake, but giving them a once over, Vanya couldn’t argue. They were hers. But how…? She reached for them.

“Why do you have my keys?”

She tried to remember when she’d last seen them, sure that she must have had them before heading to Leonard’s house the night before.

“It’s a long story.” Allison answered with a sigh and then frowned. “Do you wanna get a drink?”

To say Vanya was puzzled would have been an understatement. It had been a strange rollercoaster of a day already, going from good to bad to weird, and if she was being honest, a drink didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world to calm her nerves. So, she nodded.

“Sure.”

They walked to a bar not far from the Icarus and went inside. Vanya had only been there once before, just after getting Third Chair, but it looked exactly as she remembered. The interior was dim but not depressingly dark, the decorations charming and muted in terms of color. It had an intimate feel to it and would be a good place to talk. There weren’t many people inside either thankfully, so she and Allison were able to pick a table. They sat and got settled, waiting for the waitress as they both took the room in.

“This is nice.” Allison commented, though her expression suggested it wasn’t quite as nice as she was used to.

“I came here once.” Vanya shared. “A while back.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, and they both fell quiet.

They weren’t very good at this. Vanya opened her mouth to say something, but before she could even think of anything, a young waiter stepped up from behind Allison and introduced himself with a pad of paper held firm in his hands and a professional smile plastered tight on his face.

“Good afternoon ladies. I’m Todd. I’ll be taking care of you today, so what can I start you out with? Drinks? An appetizer?”

“Drinks.” Allison answered for them both. “Did I see a Lagavulin on the shelf back there?”

“Yes ma’am. Sixteen year.”

“Give me a glass of that. Neat. Please.”

“And you ma’am?” He looked at Vanya, and she realized she hadn’t prepared an answer. Shit. “Um. Gin and tonic please.”

“Sure thing. I just need to see some ID.”

They both sighed and fished out their driver’s licenses, handing them over and then taking them back.

“Alright. I’ll be back shortly with your drinks.”

When he was gone, Allison smiled.

“Gin and tonic huh? For some reason I always pictured you as more of a beer drinker.”

“Well, we haven’t had a lot of drinks together before, so…” Vanya wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence without sounding too tetchy, so she let it hang.

“No, you’re right.” Allison agreed. There was a healthy pause, but then her sister’s lips turned up and she laughed. “Do you remember that time when we were kids? When Five snuck out with Klaus to get us… oh God, what was it? Wine coolers?”

Vanya chuckled, an image of them all freezing their butts off on the roof coming to mind as they’d waited for their brothers to get back. She’d forgotten all about that. They couldn’t have been more than eleven at the time.

“It was so cold.”

“Coldest November in years.” Allison nodded. “Diego and Luther would _not_ stop bickering either. Those two. I swear. And didn’t we almost get caught?”

“Oh yeah…” The question conjured more of that night and Vanya grew a wistful smile. “Somebody on the street heard the arguing. They went to the front door but—”

“But Five jumped in front and blocked the way!” Allison laughed. “That scream they let out. I think it was a woman, wasn’t it?”

“I can’t even remember anymore. I know Five thought it was hilarious though, and Ben was so worried about Dad finding out.”

“You ended up getting _so_ drunk that night. I remember those two practically _carrying_ you to bed.”

“Reaction with my medication.” Vanya explained, the corner of her mouth turning up as she remembered the others stumbling around on the roof as well, all of them trying to squeeze whatever enjoyment they could out of Dad’s absence. “The rest of you got pretty drunk too though.”

“Oh God, yeah, I think I threw up.”

Vanya gaped, a new recollection surfacing.

“In the roses?”

“Yes! I had thorns and twigs stuck in my hair the next day. It was awful!”

“I watched Mom clean it up that following afternoon. It was pretty gross.”

Allison frowned, opened her mouth to speak, but then their drinks arrived. They both thanked the waiter and took a sip.

“Why were you up there with Mom?” Allison asked after setting her glass down.

“We worked on the garden up there together while you guys were busy training.”

“I never knew that.”

“I never really told any of you.” Vanya admitted. She’d liked having her own little secrets in the house that had been built on them, liked having something the others didn’t. “Me and her spent a lot of time together.”

Allison’s face smoothed as she became somber.

“It’s hard to believe she’s gone. I mean, I didn’t see her for years before coming home again, but it’s still weird. You know? Knowing she won’t be there when we go back.”

Vanya nodded, and they both swallowed more of their drinks, this time allowing some sorrow to settle between them. Mom may not have been real, but she was the closest thing to a mother any of them would ever have. Despite everything, Vanya was grateful to the robot, so she lifted her glass.

“To Mom.”

Allison raised her glass as well.

“To Mom.”

They clinked the edges together and drank down the rest, then ordered another. As the next two hours passed, they shared additional stories about the past, most about their mother, some where they were together, and others where they were apart. Allison recounted Grace’s numerous acts of kindness and a particularly awful incident where she’d had a dislocated arm reset. Vanya divulged how she’d taught her to bake, and how on several occasions she’d helped prepare the cake they’d all had to share for birthdays.

“Is that why Five and Ben always had the nicest decorations on their pieces?” Allison asked with a half-smile.

Vanya laughed in spite of herself, the last two drinks leaving her loose and relaxed.

“There _were_ some benefits to being friends with inconsequential Number Seven.” She joked, her sentiments somewhere between the light-hearted and the genuinely brooding.

Allison laughed as well, but the half-playful remark left a sour taste behind that cause them to both fall quiet shortly thereafter. Talking about Mom was nice, but Vanya knew they were both aware of how unpleasant the past had been. Her sister cleared her throat and flagged the waiter down, ordering them both another round. They finished off their remaining drinks without talking. Drinks came, and Vanya remembered they hadn’t even touched on one of the biggest reasons she’d agreed to come. 

“Hey, okay, so how’d you end up with my keys?”

Allison’s expression loosened, likely from the relief of having a new topic of conversation at last.

“Oh god I almost completely forgot about that. So I went to your apartment first, earlier, you know before I came to the theater. To look for you, to tell you about Mom. And um, well, _Leonard_ was there already.”

“Leonard?” Vanya frowned, not sure what to make of that.

“Yeah. _Inside_.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The door was cracked open when I got there, so I went in – honestly I thought the worst at first when I didn’t see you – thought maybe it was those assholes from last night maybe. Anyway, I got in and saw somebody moving around in your _bedroom_.”

“Wait. My _room_?”

“Yes! Honestly, I almost beat the shit out of him, but then I recognized who it was and asked what he was doing there.”

“Well what did he say?”

“That he had to use the _bathroom._ Said that you left your keys at his _place_ last night, and that he was bringing them back, but like, how rude is _that_? Who just goes _into_ somebody’s apartment like that, and why didn’t he just give them back to you this morning? Also I am _so_ putting a pin in this spending the night at his place thing.”

Vanya rolled her eyes.

“It was nothing like that. We just talked. And I mean…” She felt a sudden need to defend Leonard, her sister’s antagonism obvious and a little unwelcome given how the previous night had ended. “It sounds rational enough. Doesn’t it? He walked me to rehearsal, but we got to talking and he probably forgot he had them.”

“Then why didn’t he go home and just bring them to you after practice?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t know how long it would take, and besides that, he said he had to work. It’s not _that_ big a deal.”

“Vanya!” Allison looked aghast, her mouth open and eyes a little wider. “That’s a total invasion of your privacy! You barely know this guy and he just goes into your home _alone_ , without even asking or telling you. What if he was there to steal a bunch of stuff?”

“Leonard _wouldn’t_. I mean, I can’t even imagine.”

“Uh. I get it. I don’t wanna believe it either, but why would he tell you he’s going to work, and then all of a sudden he’s letting himself into your place?”

“To use the bathroom. Like he _said_.” Vanya felt a little annoyed by her sister’s persistence. Where was she ten years ago when this sort of over-bearing protection might have been put to better use?

“Or to creep around.”

“He wouldn’t.” She insisted.

“Rifle through your stuff? Maybe steal something? I mean… Jerk off on your Mr. Snuggles teddy bear?”

“No! No, stop.” The theories were beginning to grow ridiculous, though there was a shadow of doubt beginning to lean in.

Why _hadn’t_ he simply left them at the Icarus front desk or put a note on her door so they could meet up and exchange?

“Look, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but sometimes, men are _unredeemable_ shits.”

A wry smile tried to creep out. Yeah. Vanya knew her fair share about unredeemable shits, but getting into that now would side-track the conversation too much, and she wasn’t that comfortable letting her sister that far in. This strange new relationship she was trying to build with her was too uncharted, and laden with far too much old baggage. If Allison wanted to try and be friends, that would be a long road with a lot of work. Instead of sharing any of those thoughts though, Vanya decided to let her sister have this one. She couldn’t believe it, but she didn’t want to argue.

“Well, maybe, but… I like this one.” She answered, adding the last bit without thinking, the gin prying free some unexpected honesty. “I know it’s weird, ‘cause we only knew each other for a few days, but… Leonard _felt_ real. Like he saw something in me no one else did.”

 _Something none of_ you _did._

“I know the feeling.” Allison said, chuckling before going on. “God, I haven’t felt like that since I was a kid.”

Vanya knew her sister couldn’t possibly relate, at least not in the way she meant, but she could surmise what Allison _really_ meant.

“Luther?” She asked, recalling the prolonged looks the two would share over meals, or the times they would try to carve out between lessons and training sessions so that they could be alone.

She could remember that seeing their feelings maturate had made her feel hopeful for whatever she’d had blossoming for Five in those days. The secretive smiles. The general nearness whenever it could be stolen. Funny how it hadn’t worked out for either of them, but perhaps, she considered, that was for the best. Not a one of them had escaped that house being emotionally healthy, and that aside, they would be difficult relationships to defend from the outside world. Regardless, pondering on the might-have-beens left her with a poignant, unfulfillable longing. Allison let out an uncomfortable laugh, and Vanya wondered if she’d been thinking the same; if she _felt_ the same.

“Does everyone know?”

“Well, I’m the last person who should be speaking for everyone, but…” _Yeah. Everyone knew_. “I always suspected. You two were so close.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not speaking to me either.” Vanya wondered if Allison meant her as the second part of that ‘either’ as a pause sunk in. “Here we are.” She finished, letting out another dry laugh.

Vanya lifted her glass and let a smile find her. She hadn’t lost her disappointment over the way they’d dismissed her last night, but she could recognize that at least her sister was trying to forge something untried between them. She appreciated the effort and decided to try a little harder herself. Maybe she could begin to forgive Allison.

“Yay, sisters?” She offered.

They both chuckled, and Vanya felt something warm grow inside of her.

“Yay sisters.” Allison agreed, raising her own glass before they clinked them together in a small toast.

After making their toast, Vanya glanced towards the windows and saw that it was dark out already. Well shit. They’d been there a lot longer than she’d expected.

“We should get going after this. We can go back to my apartment.”

“Walk?” Allison asked, incredulous.

“Nah we can take a taxi.”

“Sounds good to me. You have anything to drink at your place?” She lifted up her glass to signify that she didn’t mean water, and Vanya nodded.

“I’ve got some rum. It’s nothing expensive or anything, but I’m sure it’ll do that trick.”

Allison snorted out a laugh and threw her glass back, finishing off what she had. Vanya took a sip of her own, then reached for her pocket to pull out her wallet. Her sister held out a hand and shook her head.

“No way. This is my treat. I totally invited _you._ Remember?”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Plus, we’ll be polishing off your rum, so we can call it even.”

Vanya smiled.

“Okay then.”

“Great. Well. I’m going to go use the bathroom and then find our waiter. You.” She pointed down to the table. “Finish your drink.”

Allison stood and wandered away from the table, and Vanya chuckled. Had somebody told her a week ago she’d be getting drunk with her sister, she never would have believed it. Then again, had somebody told her a week ago that her father would be dead, she’d have a new crush and that and her missing brother of two decades would return looking exactly as he had the day he left, she wouldn’t have believed any of that either. The fact of the matter was nothing about her week was believable at this point, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. And so she finished off the rest of her drink and sighed.

“What a week.” She mumbled, staring down at the lime sitting in the bottom of her glass.

After her sister returned from the bathroom they paid, called a cab, and then left. Allison chatted most of the ride, first about some of the people on the set of her last movie that she didn’t like, and then about what a jackass her ex-husband was which somehow deviated into what a jackass their father had been, and how awful it was that he’d hurt Luther the way he had.

They stumbled into Vanya’s apartment shortly thereafter.

“Ah!” Allison let out once they stepped inside and the lights came on. “I love your apartment!”

“I’m sure it’s smaller than one of your closets.” She pulled off her jacket as her sister collapsed onto the couch. “But—”

“No. Really.” Allison insisted with a small laugh as Vanya threw her coat over a chair. “I love it.”

She didn’t really believe her, but that was okay.

“Well. I’m just gonna go check on things, make sure everything’s in the right place.” Vanya said, not sure how best to segue to it before heading back to her bedroom.

She didn’t _want_ to believe that Leonard had stolen anything, but her sister had gotten into her head and admittedly, she was a little worried about it now. Stepping into the bedroom, Vanya flipped on the lights, but before she could get far, she heard Allison from the living room.

“Do you have sweatpants?” Her sister called out, and Vanya paused, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see her sister jump up from the couch. “ _We_ are going to need…”

Vanya turned back to the bedroom as her sister’s voice dropped, and that’s when she saw them sitting on her vanity. Flowers. The bright arrangement was sitting in a pretty green vase, a yellow ribbon tied around the center, and all at once her mouth widened into a smile and she put a hand over it in surprise, too stunned to do much else for a moment. He’d snuck flowers into her apartment. _That_ was why he’d come inside.

Floating with giddy excitement, Vanya went to the dresser and picked them up, cradling them with both hands as she turned to take them out into the main room.

“Oh my god.” She managed to say at last as she passed through the doorway. He’d gotten her _flowers_.

“Wait, what are those?” Allison asked from the kitchen, following her to the table.

“They’re from Leonard.” Vanya answered, so thrilled by his gesture that she didn’t even mind as Allison plucked out the small card attached to them.

“I like you, and I’m not sorry.” Her sister read out loud, and the message teased Vanya’s lips back up.

It was so sweet and intimate.

“I don’t get it.” Allison said a second later.

“It’s an inside joke.” Vanya explained, not at all willing to expound beyond that. “I should call him right? To say thanks?”

She looked up at Allison, and her sister’s expression went from a frown to a something she couldn’t quite read.

“I mean, if you want to.” She answered but didn’t look as pleased about the situation as Vanya felt.

That was fine. She didn’t need her sister’s approval for anything.

“I’m gonna call him.”

She went to her back table near the windows first to find his number, then hurried to the phone and rang him, eager to express her gratitude. The phone rang three times, and then she heard it pick up.

“Hello?” She recognized Leonard’s voice and smiled.

“Hey. I – I got the flowers. Thank you so much.”

“Oh, good.” He paused. “To be honest, I was getting a little worried.”

“Worried?” She frowned, confused. “Why?”

“Well I hadn’t heard from you. And… it was a little bit awkward with your sister earlier.”

She cringed inwardly, wondering what exactly had happened. She doubted her sister had told her everything.

“It’s fine.” Vanya said, glancing towards Allison. “She knows it was a misunderstanding.” There was silence on the other end, and for a second she panicked, wondering if the mishap between him and her sister was too much trouble. “Do you wanna get breakfast tomorrow?”

She hoped asking him out would smooth things over since they hadn’t yet managed to go anywhere together.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Vanya smiled, relief flooding into her. He still wanted her. Her stomach flooded with warmth.

“Well. I’ll, uh, talk to you in the morning.” She said then, not wanting to hold him up on the phone for too long, and certainly not with her sister standing so unhappily at her back.

“Okay. Bye.”

Vanya let her smile linger after they hung up, before she turned to face her sister, and as soon as she saw Allison open her mouth to speak, she sprang to change the subject. She did _not_ want to hear a lecture on her choices.

“You still want those sweatpants and some rum?” She asked.

Allison laughed.

“Absolutely. You get the pants; I’ll get the drinks ready. And we are so eating your entire bowl of chocolate covered raisins.”

And they did just that. Vanya’s sweatpants were absurdly small on her sister, which they both got a laugh out of, but that didn’t stop them from sprawling comfortably in her living room. The bowl sat on the table between them, and as they drank and chatted – both tactfully dancing around any less than happy memories as they reminisced – the bottle was soon empty and it was well after midnight. Allison yawned and stretched her arms up above her head.

“You can – I mean, like, you can sleep here if you want.” Vanya offered for the second time, her words sputtering out with difficulty, her tongue clumsy and her brain rocking on waves of liquor.

“No, no.” Allison waved it off as she pulled the too-small sweatpants off and threw them to the side. “Called cab already. Plus. I’m too tall for your couch. And I’d totally hate myself in the morning if I didn’t brush my face and wash my teeth.” She slurred most of the words, but Vanya caught the gist.

They polished off the rest of the raisins as they waited for the cab, and when it honked from the street, the two sisters hugged tightly, more affectionate now that they were both nice and drunk.

“This was great.” Allison gushed. “We should really – we should have to – let’s just do this again.”

“Totally.” Vanya agreed, shaking her head no even though she meant yes.

They said their goodbyes then, and after Allison swept out of the apartment, Vanya locked the door behind her and then ambled to her bedroom, grinning when she passed the flowers. She’d see him tomorrow. And Allison was being so nice. Things were so good right now. She collapsed onto her mattress face first, determined to only rest her eyes for a moment before getting ready for…

She was asleep before she could even finish the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright and that's pretty much it. I did start on episode 5, but honestly if there isn't a want for more I'm just going to move on to another fic. So yeah, please let me know if you want more of this, otherwise consider this the end! If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading and I genuinely hope you enjoyed.


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